


Your Favorite Hello

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accounts Executive Dean Winchester, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, CPA Castiel, CPA!Castiel, Docking, Everyday Life, Executive!Dean, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Human AU, Human Castiel, Human!Castiel - Freeform, Just Add Kittens, M/M, No Angst AU, Oral Sex, Top Dean, bottom!Castiel, feel good fic, menthol for the soul, the cat's name is Skittles, this whole fic is just Dean and Castiel happily falling in love, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-27 23:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8422534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Dean/Cas Big Bang 2016
Accounts Manager Dean Winchester and CPA Castiel Novak have been working at the same large company for several months, only interacting through office IM. Then a typo on an expense report leads to an unexpected phone call that results in a simmering crush on both ends of the line, despite neither knowing what the other looks like. Office romances typically never work out, especially when one of them has a slightly bad (though undeserved) reputation, and the other has a slightly bad track record with lovers. But their first face-to-face meeting at the company Christmas party makes them both willing to give it a go. Through a whirlwind romance, Dean wonders if they're moving too fast, and Castiel worries that he's opening himself up for another devastating heartbreak. Together, it turns out that sometimes good things do happen.
  Art masterpost by busysquirrel!

  The art links should be fixed in the story now!





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first DCBB and it was a wild ride! I am so glad that I did it, and BusySquirrel was such a joy to work with! She really came through with the gorgeous art for my entry. I really hope you all enjoy it!
> 
> HUGE thank you to my amazing bestie and beta [ltleflrt](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com). She was with this story from start to finish, so I owe it all to her being able to actually finish it.

Expense reports are the bane of Dean Winchester's existence. He can't, for the life of him, figure them out. He's good at keeping track of everything, but logging all that shit into Excel and then into the company's internal tracking system never works. Something is always fucking wrong. Every fucking _time_.

It's Tuesday morning. His socks are wet from the rain. He forgot his coffee on the kitchen table, so he has to put up with the weak-ass shit in the breakroom. His lunch is also still on the kitchen table. He's jetlagged. He's exhausted. And the numbers in the _fucking_ Excel spreadsheet do not match with the _fucking_ numbers in the intranet app. God-fucking-dammit-all-to-hell-in-a-handbasket-cocksucking-piece-of-shit-why-are-they-still-using-internet-explorer-he-will-jump-out-a-goddamn- _window_ -in-ten-seconds-if-

 **CastielN:** Hello, Dean.

The chirp of the network's IM system startles him out of his thoughts and he quickly drags his keyboard towards him.

 **DeanW:** hey Cas!

Castiel types fast. His responses are rarely less than a handful of seconds apart, even when complex.

 **CastielN:** I trust your latest business trip was productive?  
**DeanW:** yeah theyll bite im sure. little wine and dine and a cool mil for us.

He _really_ likes that Cas doesn't mind him letting his figurative hair down when they're chatting. They'd started off formal months ago when Cas had first joined the company, of course, but it hadn't stayed that way. Dean had been at his desk well past official business hours, and an email from Castiel Novak, CPA, Chief Financial Officer, had popped up asking for clarification on an account at his earliest convenience. He'd replied, and moments later a bewildered IM had asked what he was still doing here this late, clearly not expecting someone from Accounts to be burning the midnight oil as well.

Dean's reply had been something along the lines of keyboard banging, **DeanW:** b/c management jbs suck. i havent slpt in dats.

Castiel had allowed for some leniency to Dean's typing skills after that without saying a word.

 **DeanW:** u just saying hi?  
**CastielN:** Yes and no. I'm glad you're back and had a lucrative meeting with the clients. However, I believe you sent your expense report too early.

Dean squints at his monitor.

 **DeanW:** waht? working on it rn. didnt send yet  
**CastielN:** You accidentally hit 'send' instead of 'save.' I just received an internal email notification that it was complete pending review.  
**DeanW:** dammit. sorry. can u fix it?  
**CastielN:** I'll mark it incomplete so you can reopen it. You should be able to continue editing it now.  
**DeanW:** thx man. always causing u problems.  
**CastielN:** Hardly. Do you need help, though? Your numbers are off.  
**DeanW:** yeah. no idea whats up w/ that.

His desk phone rings. Dean stares at it for a second. There's an upstairs extension flashing on the caller ID with no name, but it's obvious who it is. He's never spoken to Castiel on the phone before, and frankly, that makes him more than a little nervous. He knows it's stupid, but he has a sort of mental image in his head. What the man looks like and sounds like, and he enjoys it. They're... well, not _friends_ exactly, but definitely comrades. Castiel is kind, patient, professional, funny when he's not trying to be. Dean doesn't want to break the little bubble of happiness he's created with their months of IM acquaintance. It's childish. Castiel Novak is a real person with real feelings and a real job to do. But he makes all the office work simply suck a whole lot less.

Dean clicks on his Bluetooth headset and the multi-line phone automatically connects the call. "Dean Winchester," he says, wishing to God he'd cleared his throat before answering. He lifts his styrofoam cup to his lips and sucks in a mouthful of lukewarm coffee.

"Hello, Dean. Castiel Novak."

 _Oh, no._ He's glad he picked up the phone. He rereads the first line of the chat transcript. "Hello, Dean," it says. _How did I ever think I preferred that to this_? Castiel's voice is so much fucking better than he'd imagined. He'd pictured a quiet voice, maybe slightly higher than his. A little nerdy and possibly a bit monotone. Cas _is_ an accountant, after all. But what he gets is actually phone sex worthy.

"Hey, Cas," he says weakly. "Nice to finally put a voice to a name." _Jesus Christ._ He contemplates banging his head on his desk.

The rusty, deep chuckle is enough to stand his hair on end. "Likewise," Castiel says. His voice is like laying down on the tideline and sinking into the wet, uneven sand as the waves wash it away. "I figured it was easier to communicate over the phone for this rather than IM."

"You're absolutely right," Dean says, finally beginning to get into the game. He's a people person. He knows how to talk without sounding like a complete idiot. "I really don't know what happened. I kept up with the spreadsheet while I was out of town. Something didn't import correctly."

He hears rapid typing on the other end of the line. He idly wonders if Castiel has long fingers. He kinda wishes that Castiel has long fingers. 

"Sometimes that happens," Castiel says with a hint of distraction as he's undoubtedly paying more attention to whatever he's typing. "It's looks like yours did, though... ah! You're missing some line items. Do you still have copies of your receipts?"

"Yeah, I... hang on." He digs through the pile of manila folders on his unorganized desk until he finds his expenses and flips it open. "Got it. Look, please don't just fix it for me, Cas. Walk me through it so I don't screw it up again."

There's an obvious smile in the other man's voice when he answers, "of course, Dean. I like your initiative. Most of the others in Accounts and Sales don't care at all about leaving expense messes for my team to work through."

Dean chuckles. He'd been one of those people once upon a time. Then Castiel had come along. "I wouldn't be setting a good example as their manager if I did that." _Gold star, Winchester, you big suck up._

"Very true. Okay, find your receipt for the fifth. Three hundred eighty six dollars and fifteen cents."

Dean shuffles through the copies. "Got it."

"This is a simple fix. The code you entered for it is wrong. You transposed two of the numbers. That's why it flagged in the intranet's app and didn't add."

"Even the little things mess everything up," Dean mutters as he types in the right numbers.

"Well, yes. As frustrating as it is, accounting must be precise. Every penny counts."

Grinning, Dean says, "yeah." Of course Castiel would say that. He probably buttons his shirts all the way to the top collar. "Done. All right, what's next?"

For the next half hour, Castiel walks Dean through the errors on his spreadsheet, and even gives him a refresher course as he makes new entries to streamline the process. When it's done, Dean hates to admit that he actually kinda, _sorta_ enjoyed doing his expense report. It was nice having a deep bedroom timbre tutoring him the whole way. With a pang of regret, he sends the report through the intranet up to accounting.

"It's in my hands now," Castiel says. "Thank you for being so agreeable, Dean. I must admit that I had some trepidation in calling down. The last time I tried with another accounts rep, he yelled at me for twenty minutes, and eventually erroneously concluded that it was my job to make the numbers work even when his were wrong. Waste of time."

Last time? "I'm not here to make your job harder, Cas. I'm trying to drum up bigger numbers for you to put in your calculator, not the wrong ones."

"I'm very pleased to hear that."

He clears his throat and says with forced lightness, "though I would like to know which one of my people did that."

A pause. "It's really nothing. I wouldn't want to get anyone in trouble."

Apparently his protective streak is about a mile wide knowing how understanding and mild-mannered Castiel actually is. "Well, I'm still gonna bring up proper inter-office relations at the next staff meeting." He hopes he doesn't sound too bristled, but he probably does.

Castiel doesn't appear offended, however. He simply says "team building is important, too."

"Yeah." They fall into silence again. He knows he needs to say goodbye and let Cas get back to his work, but he really doesn't want to. Therefore he lets the pause carry on a bit long. "Thanks again. Really. Uh. Have a good day."

"You, too, Dean," Castiel answers in a far more amused-intimate tone than Dean's ready to hear before disconnecting the call.

Dean sweeps all the receipts back into the folder and snaps it shut, fanning himself for a moment. How is he supposed to go back to IM's after that?

xXx

"Good morning, Castiel."

Without looking up, he answers, "good morning, Anna." She says nothing, and there's no movement in his periphery. Rusty people skills or not, Castiel realizes that's fairly strange, so he glances up. She's leaning against the doorframe to his office, smiling. Yes, very strange. It makes him uneasy. "Is there something I can do for you?"

"Why are you smiling?" she asks pointedly.

Reflexively, Castiel reaches up to rub his jaw. "Am I?"

"Yes." Her smile spreads.

Castiel can feel his face pulling down into the scowl that makes everyone ask him if he needs glasses. Apparently he squints too much. "Hm," he huffs, non-committal.

Of course, his lack of answer does nothing to deter his second-in-command. She steps into the room and plants herself on the brown faux leather chair in front of his desk uninvited. Wonderful. He somehow stumbled into an invasive question and answer session that some of his coworkers like to have with him. It's not that he's opposed to making friends, it's just that he doesn't fancy himself fascinating enough to make much in the way of small talk. "If I didn't know any better," she muses, tapping her demurely painted peach nails on top of the folder she's carrying, "I'd say you had a lovely evening with someone special last night, but I _do_ know better."

Castiel grimaces. He knows what she's implying. He will never understand why people are interested in their coworkers' sex lives. "You would be correct," he says. "Last night was the same routine as always."

She presses her finger to her bottom lip in playful thoughtfulness. "So, something this morning?" Her gaze on him sharpens. "The person you spoke with on the phone a few minutes ago? Who was it? Definitely someone here."

Castiel can sense he's caught, and his expression must give it away, because Anna reacts like she's smelled blood in the water. He opens his mouth to deny her anything, but she's out of her seat calling down the hallway, "Gabriel! Something's going on with Castiel!"

Castiel wishes the floor would open up and eat him alive. "Please don't bring him in here," he mutters uselessly. Gabriel is already there. Damn the accounting department for having better snacks in the breakroom than the marketing department. Gabriel never fails to raid them every morning like he is his own army of ants.

"What's up, little bro?"

"Nothing," Castiel says.

"He's _smiling_ ," Anna says significantly.

"No, he's not," Gabriel grins.

"He _was_ when he thought no one was looking," she insists. "There's someone making him smile and he won't give us a hint."

"This is harassment," Castiel complains even quieter.

Gabriel sits on the corner of his desk, upsetting a stack of spreadsheets. "Who's this mystery person, then? Butcher? Baker? Candlestick maker?" He elbows Castiel aside and sends the man's chair rolling out from behind the desk before he can catch himself. Definitely before he can close the chat window. Gabriel zeroes in on it immediately. "Ooh! Dean W. Who needs help with expense reports."

Castiel wheels his chair back, bodily shoving Gabriel away. "Get away from my computer. Shouldn't you be down in marketing?"

"Who is Dean W?" Anna asks, ignoring Castiel's stormy look.

"Someone with horrible typing skills. And he travels. He mentioned wining and dining a potential client. So... accounts? Sales? Advertising? Brand management? He's not with me."

"Please leave," Castiel begs. "Both of you. I don't enjoy your method of teasing."

"That's not what this is," Anna says, holding out her hand to Gabriel. He passes her his work tablet readily and she swipes the screen, poking around.

"What is it, then?" Castiel damns himself for asking.

She winks at him. "Investing in your happiness. Your smile is too rare these days." She nods in triumph and passes the tablet back to Gabriel, who accepts it with a flourish.

"Oh, _hello_ Mr. Accounts Executive Dean Winchester. According to the staff directory, he joined our lovely company five years ago as a rep. He's a go-getter, then, climbing the corporate ladder."

"Must be attractive and good at his job," Anna butts in when Gabriel pauses to take a breath.

"Probably single," Gabriel adds. "That much traveling and the fast rise to the top means he hasn't got much of a home life."

"People person," Anna concludes. "Hopefully not a lady or man killer."

"I know him," a new, accented voice says from the doorway.

Castiel slouches further in his chair. "I don't care."

Balthazar is grinning as widely as Anna and Gabriel. "You _should_. He is, as you kids say, easy on the eyes."

Castiel groans and drops his head into hands. "It doesn't matter. I simply helped him with his expense report."

"Like you had nothing better to do," Anna mocks. "You don't help _anyone_ with those; you're the boss. You delegate. So, that means Dean Winchester is special."

"About time he got off the market," Balthazar says. "He's bad for business at the company Christmas party."

"Is he a heartbreaker?" Anna asks regretfully.

Balthazar shakes his head and Castiel hates himself more for wanting to know the answer. The unpleasant squeeze in his chest isn't doing him any favors. It's foolish, considering he's never even spoken to the man about anything besides work, and never even seen him. His voice though... he'd nearly lost his senses when he heard it. "Not that I know of," the British man says. "Well, that's not entirely true."

Castiel is frowning so hard now that his face hurts, and he's also doing less than nothing to convince these people that he isn't actually interested.

"He is or he isn't," Gabriel says, and Castiel mentally thanks his brother for saying what he didn't want to.

Balthazar waves a hand. "I mean to say, he _does_ tend to leave with people, but I've never heard a bad word against him. If he's having one night stands, which I suspect he is, he is at least man enough to not get their hopes up."

It feels like rocks have settled Castiel's stomach. "Are you three done gossiping?" he snaps.

"Hardly," Balthazar says. His eyes widen when he gets a proper look at Castiel. "Do you... honestly have a real crush on Dean Winchester? I thought they were teasing you!"

"We were," Gabriel answers. "Looks like we hit the nail on the head, though."

"No, you didn't," Castiel answers through clenched teeth. "I don't have a crush on a man I've never actually met, no matter how attractive you _tell_ me he is. We've only discussed work, and I'm grateful that he's more professional than many of our colleagues. That's all."

"Is it?" Anna says, almost to herself.

Castiel is suddenly drained. "Yes," he sighs. He doesn't miss the looks that his friends and family give each other, but they all agree to leave him to his work in peace finally. Castiel stands to escort them out of his office, shuts the door firmly, but doesn't lock it, and collapses back into his chair. His gaze falls on the clock across the room sitting on a glass table tucked between two overstuffed brown leather sofas. His day feels ruined, and it's only nine o'clock.

So what if he has a ridiculous crush? He already knows it's childish and bizarre. He simply _likes_ Dean. He doesn't have to know everything about him. They've chatted more than necessary during slower periods several times over the past few months, but that's it. When Castiel had been learning the ropes of his new position months ago, Dean had almost-unconsciously eased him into the corporate culture, name dropping and peppering their chats with tips on everything from the best time to go to the cafeteria for lunch, to who to talk to to push paperwork through faster. 

Dean is easygoing and friendly and outgoing and irreverent, yet still the top performer in his department. Castiel knows that for a fact. He was tasked with running the end of the year numbers himself. But besides being both top performers in their respective departments, he and Castiel are nothing alike. He _has_ often wondered if Dean is this friendly with everyone, but if he doesn't ask and doesn't find out, then he can continue his little fantasy and be perfectly content that he gets some preferential treatment. His last few relationships have just been too... much. Everyone can call him a coward. He's fine with that. He's not looking for more. He doesn't _want_ more.

An email pings and Castiel clicks it without thinking. Then he groans inwardly. It's the invitation to the company's Christmas party. Darkly, he muses that Balthazar must have summoned it by mentioning it. The party isn't required, per se, but as a department manager, it would look very bad if he doesn't attend. He's not a huge fan of contrived team building exercises, and considers office parties to fall firmly under that umbrella. Maybe he could put in an acceptable amount of time, have a drink, and bow out early. Then again, Balthazar had said that Dean attends every year. Meeting him in person would be nice. Maybe they could... Castiel stops mid thought and shakes his head. Being Dean's "end of the year one night stand" would probably not end as easily for him as anyone else the man had taken home. 

However, now that the idea of actually meeting Dean Winchester face to face is - innocently, of course - planted in his head, he doesn't think he'll be able to only put in a polite amount of time and one drink before going home. With a sigh, he accepts the RSVP link, sending it to HR for a final headcount.

He's not looking for more, he tries to convince himself again. He doesn't _want_ more.

xXx 

In between client meetings Dean opens his email on his phone one handed because the other is busy stuffing his face with a deli sandwich in between sips from his fifth cup of coffee. Ooh. Christmas party. Good times. Mostly. He always ends up being hit on and dragged towards the mistletoe near the end of the festivities by people he only vaguely recognizes. Not like he hates being attractive enough to be considered a viable target for flirtation. But he sure is tired of his tradition of shuttling co-workers in various stages of drunkenness home before they can have an embarrassing morning waking up to "What's His Face In... Accounts, Was It?" Dean Winchester, holiday designated driver. Still, up until that point it's usually fun.

Maybe Cas will show. Of course he will. He's a manager. Maybe by then Dean will have thought of something to say to him that's not super lame like, "nice to finally have a face to put with a name and voice." _Please don't say that._ He taps the RSVP button and tucks his phone away. There's plenty of time to think about it later.

xXx

Thursday morning, Castiel opens up the intranet email app to see that Dean Winchester has submitted another expense report. There's not a single error in it. Castiel approves it with a sigh. Dean really _had_ been serious about actually learning how to properly file them. Now what excuse did he have to open his messenger or call down to Accounts? He really wanted to have a reason to chat a little and ask about the Christmas party, at least. He feels like a teenager again, too scared to ask his crush to the movies or something, but damn his friends and brother for over complicating a _completely_ harmless working relationship and casual friendship. Now he thinks about it too much, and thinking about it means overthinking about it. He's far too full of what-if's and possibilities before there's anything there, making it difficult to be rational anymore. And that's always what got him into relationship trouble before.

Castiel turns on his headset. Perhaps he can simply make a short call down to Dean to tell him how much he appreciates the attention to detail. His hand hovers over the dialer for several seconds.

He clicks his headset off. There's really no need to make that sort of call. It would probably seem odd.

For the first time in his life, Castiel is disappointed that someone has made his job easier.

xXx

On Friday, Dean realizes that he hasn't heard a thing from Castiel since they spoke on the phone that one time. Unacceptable. He turns on his headset and dials before he can think better of it.

Castiel picks up on the second ring. "This is Castiel Novak," he says distractedly, and to Dean it's like the sun's come out.

"'Morning, Cas!" he says cheerfully. "Did you get my latest reports?" Of course he had. Dean checked a dozen times all day after submitting them until he saw them in the queue changed from 'pending review' to 'completed.' Then he'd abused his admin rights slightly to check who had signed off on them and closed them. Every single one was Castiel. For the last two months.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel answers, and he sounds surprised. "Yes, I got them. They were perfect, thank you."

"I scheduled a meeting with the rest of my team after the holidays to go over the process with them. Give your people less headaches."

There's an intake of breath. "I... thank you, Dean, you don't have to do that."

"Why not?" Why not, indeed? Why _wouldn't_ he do something like that?

"Well, it's... I'm... you're going out of your way. Surely you have so many more important things to do. Clients to wine and dine."

Dean can't help the laugh that bubbles up. "You're making it sound like no one's ever done anything nice for you before."

"It's rare," Castiel admits. "Of course, growing our teams to become more efficient as a whole benefits the entire company."

"There ya go!" Dean enthuses. "Don't worry about it. I'm the boss, and I say that my people need to do better. And if it helps you, that's a bonus, right?"

Castiel's laugh is quiet and reserved. "Right." There's a low murmur on the other end of the line. "Please excuse me. There's another crisis that demands my attention. It's been wonderful talking to you."

"You, too, Cas. See ya." He clicks off his headset feeling quite proud of himself for being able to actually be himself in front of Castiel. That went well.

He makes a point to call Castiel or IM him once a day. And November fades into December with Dean's days getting a hell of a lot better.


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The office Christmas party looms. Dean and Castiel meet for the first time.

"You're looking less than excited than I figured you would about the shindig tonight," Benny says, leaning around the door frame into Dean's office.

"Is it just me," Dean says thoughtfully, "or does it just not feel like the holidays this year?"

"Oh, here we go," Benny groans, rolling his eyes. He saunters into the office, planting himself on the black leather sofa against the back wall and helping himself to an expensive bottle of water that he knows are for clients only, damn him.

"What?" Dean asks, only half-paying attention while firing off several emails.

"You're doing that thing again."

"What thing?"

"That thing where you get depressed and introspective over the holidays right before the party. There's no point, brother. It's a waste trying to meet someone here. Work romances never last."

Dean presses the 'enter' key a little too hard and shoves his keyboard away to focus on his best friend. "It's not like that, man. Come on, you gotta know I never try to pick anyone up at that party."

"Lie to yourself, but don't lie to me," Benny scoffs. "You take someone home every damn year."

"Literally," Dean mutters. "Just drunkards. I drove 'em all home and made sure they got there safely. Seriously, do you _honestly_ think I actually fucked _Crowley_?" Slowly, horror dawns. His eyebrows raise almost into his hairline. "Wait. _Do_ you think I fucked Crowley?"

Benny avoids the answer by taking a long sip of water and shrugs in that uncomfortable way that makes Dean want to throw something at him. "If it makes you feel any better, most people think he's the one who sleeps around too much, not you."

"Oh, my God, I'm not hearing this," Dean laments. He drops his forehead to the polished wood of his desk. "I can't believe everyone thinks I'm sleeping around! I've never done that with anyone here!"

"Sucks havin' a pretty face," Benny laughs.

"I wish I could take my RSVP back," Dean says.

"Nah," Benny says airily. "Didn't you wanna meet Novak?"

Dean flops back in his chair, bumping his head against the headrest. "Not anymore. What if he's heard all those damn rumors? Fuck, now it all makes sense. All these emails I've got asking me if I'm going. All those people trying to yank me under the mistletoe every year. They were probably taking bets or something." He flings his arms out wide like he's painting a banner. "Dean Winchester: Christmas Party Whore."

Benny laughs hard, nearly choking on his water. "It ain't that bad. No one thinks you're a whore."

Dean can barely hear him over his own mortification. All those people he thought were just dumb and drunk. They were _flirting_. They'd been _actually_ trying to have sex with him. Not just the people he'd ended up taking home who, frankly, had been pretty obvious with their garbled, drunken "let's get it on" talk. No, it was even worse than that. They'd been hoping he _was_ trolling for ass. They'd been _expecting_ it. Jesus. In bars and clubs, it's one thing. That's kind of what you go for, sometimes. But this is his place of employment. These are people he respects and holds in high regard. Shit, he thought they'd done the same. Benny might have been joking, but Dean thinks he's right. It sucks having a pretty face. Talk about the wild assumptions. Fuck. _Oh, no._

Benny drags the bottle from his lips. "What's 'oh, no'?"

Had he really said that out loud? "Cas," Dean breathes. "I mean, Castiel. He's management. He'll be there at the party. He'll see all that bullshit. Then he'll think..." he's not even sure how to finish his thought. His palms are sweating. He yanks his tie and rips open the top button of his shirt. Damn it's gotten hotter in here.

Benny gives him a pointed look. "So?"

Dean's out of his chair, palms flat on his desk, feeling like he's about to pass out before he knows what he's doing. "It'll be the first time we've met face to face and he'll already think the worst of me, and it'll be confirmed if all that shit keeps happening, and then I'll be screwed."

"That so?" Benny's voice is carefully modulated and slow, his lazy Southern drawl thicker to pull out of the vowels.

Dean's head snaps up, thinking he's being made fun of, but he's taken aback to find his best friend's expression completely blank. Dean draws in a huge breath and holds it for five seconds. Exhales. Repeats. All the while Benny is watching him calmly. He runs a hand through his hair, not caring that he's messing up fifteen minutes of careful styling. "I guess I like him, Benny," he says finally.

"I would agree."

He slowly lowers himself back into his chair. "I've never even seen what he looks like. But there's just..." he shrugs. "Something about him. The first time I messaged him. Then talked on the phone. An instant kind of-" he snaps his fingers, "y'know?"

With a soft smile, Benny says, "yeah, I know. Would it help or make it worse for me to tell you I know what he looks like?"

Eager, Dean leans forward. "What's he look like?"

Smile turned wolfish, Benny answers indulgently, "Brown hair, blue eyes, always squinting for some reason. Think he loses his glasses a lot or something. Average-looking build. He's all right. You'd probably like him."

"Huh," Dean answers. He does have a thing for brunettes. "Well. If the party doesn't turn into a _complete_ disaster, point him out."

Benny salutes with his stolen water. "Will do."

xXx

Charlie Bradbury from IT and Gabriel are sitting in the center of Castiel's bed, cross-legged, facing the bathroom and closet in utter fascination. "Cas," Charlie calls in concern, "are you okay in there? This is your fourth outfit and you've been primping for thirty minutes. Concerned family out here."

"Why didn't either of you tell me I owned such boring clothes?" Castiel calls irritably from the large master bathroom. "How did I get this far with only two color suits and white shirts? It's a disgrace."

Charlie tosses her red hair over her shoulder. "Pretty sure me 'n Gabe tell you that every time you go clothes shopping."

"Who cares?" Gabriel demands. "It's dressy casual. Jeans, nice shirt, sweater, done!"

"Ooh! The blue cashmere one!" Charlie chirps. "It brings out your eyes!"

Castiel passes in front of the open door, bare chested, but buttoning a pair of dark jeans and muttering, "... jeans to the office. Doesn't feel right..."

Charlie giggles and Gabriel passes her a Hershey Kiss. "He's really, actually nervous," Charlie says in a stage whisper for Gabriel's entertainment.

The older Novak hums his agreement, eyes never leaving the doorway, eager for brief glimpses of his brother. "I've never actually seen him like this before. I'm worried, Charles. What if the rumors are true?"

"They're _totally_ not," Charlie assures him, scooting slightly to face him. "Winchester's like, a super great guy, okay? I mean, I don't know him personally or anything, but I did some digging. Tracked down a few of his alleged conquests. They all said he was a perfect gentleman. All he did was make sure they got home okay."

Gabriel snorts. "I can't believe _none_ of them got a piece."

She shrugs, unwrapping the chocolate and popping it in her mouth. She folds up the foil wrapper and bounces it off of Gabriel's temple. "He might have, but who cares? Most people like to get laid occasionally. Director Crowley tried to feed me some big story, so I knew he was lying, though. What's the big deal, anyway? This isn't some virginal crush. They're both grown men who've been around the block a few times, and-"

Gabriel reaches over, grabs her chin, and turns her head towards the bathroom where Castiel is wandering by again, mumbling, "sleeves rolled up, or left down?"

"Feels pretty virginal to me," he says dryly.

Charlie swats his hand away good-naturedly. "My point remains; they're both grown men. Let them take the leap if they want to and decide for themselves. Whatever the outcome, I'm sure they can handle it."

Gabriel's shoulders slump and he flops back onto the mattress. "I just haven't seen him act even remotely like this in years. Being closed off became his natural state after so many shitty relationships, and now he's moved back here to start over, so he's making a real effort to be happy. And this?" He nods his head up. "This is new."

Charlie tucks her chin down, giving Gabriel an open, significant look. "Then you should _definitely_ support him in this because he's probably being extra cautious. I haven't known him long, but he seems like the type to think with his head, not with his heart. He's super practical, so if he's not feeling it, he'll back out."

Gabriel presses his lips together, like he desperately has something to say. Charlie nudges his shoulder until he relents. "I won't go into all the details of everything he's been through, but suffice it to say, the Castiel that you know now isn't the same Castiel I grew up with. He's always been anal, but he was a lot more open before. Trusting. He loved way too easily, if you ask me." He sits up and faces away from the bathroom, lowering his voice. "It's not like I'm trying to change him back, because people change from experience and it never totally goes away. I just don't want him to have one too many and decide that it's not worth it anymore. He deserves to be as happy as he wants. And I know he doesn't want to be alone forever."

Charlie rubs his shoulder soothingly. "You're an awesome brother. And I get it. I do. This Dean Winchester sounds like a risk. But, Cas has seen something good there. All we can do it hope for the best."

"And prepare for the worst," Gabriel adds with a smile that doesn't completely reach his eyes.

Castiel emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later looking... not necessarily relaxed, but certainly more effortless. Charlie jumps up from the bed and happily unbuttons the top of his dress shirt, and a second one for good measure, tucking the collar neatly over the v-neck sweater. "You look great! Like you're ready to meet Dean Winchester finally, and make an impression."

Castiel's smile is nervous. "I really look okay? Not so boring?"

"You couldn't if you tried, Baby Blues," she laughs, patting his cheek. "Now let's get going! That open bar won't last all night!"

They troop out of the house, Castiel's shoulders rigid as they make their way to Gabriel's car. Charlie takes the older brother's hand and pulls him back out of earshot. "Castiel's a big boy, for real. Let him take the lead, and if it doesn't work out, we'll be there for him. He'll be fine."

Gabriel squeezes her hand and says nothing.

xXx

For the first hour of the Christmas party, Dean thinks he does a pretty good job of not making it too obvious that he's looking for someone he doesn't know who matches Castiel's description. He tugs down on his dark red sweater and accepts another drink from the bartender. The company does go out of its way to make a nice shindig. The cafeteria is decorated with hanging lights and red and green tablecloths, with a full rented bar and buffet with everything from sliced turkey to cranberry sauce. Until everyone gets drunk enough for live karaoke and dancing, he has to admit that he does enjoy stuffing his face and mingling.

But near the second hour, Dean starts to worry that maybe Cas bailed for one reason or another. His mood starts to dip south, but then while he's catching up with Benny and Ellen and Jo, Benny bumps his shoulder, almost making him slosh his rum and coke down the front of his shirt. "The hell, man?" he demands.

Benny's eyes are fixed towards the entrance, and he's wearing a shit-eating grin. "Your Christmas present has arrived, brother."

Dean follows his gaze to where three obviously new arrivals are removing their coats and handing them over to an attendant. He swallows hard, holding his breathing until the dark-haired man in the blue sweater turns towards the room. Then the air whooshes out of his lungs. Benny had sort of been downplaying the whole, _you'd probably like him_ thing. But before his heart can jump completely out of his chest he has to be sure. "That's…?"

Benny nods. "Castiel Novak. Kinda strange to see him out of his suit, actually. He dresses down good."

_Good_ is a stupid word. There's nothing just _good_ about the way the man looks. He's gorgeous, layered with handsome, and topped with a dollop of hot. He's smiling and talking to a shorter man beside him. Then the red-haired woman - isn't she in IT? - with them takes his arm, guiding him towards the bar. Before they get far, the other man pats Castiel on the shoulder and points right at Dean. Right. At. Him.

Their eyes meet. _Blue._ Dean isn't sure what expression he's making, but it must be abnormal because Castiel stumbles back a step, the woman catching him and shoving him back foward. He doesn't budge, clearly looking like he wants to run as much as Dean does. If Dean had any sense of self-preservation, he'd end his own humiliation and run for his life, but he's too busy staring and the woman is taking purposeful steps forward, dragging Castiel resolutely with her.

When they approach, she drops Castiel's arm and says breezily, "hey, there, Benny!" Her hazel eyes snap to Dean. "You Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah," he says weakly. He holds out his hand, but she bypasses that, instead squeezing him in a surprisingly bone-crushing hug for such a short woman.

"I'm Charlie from IT." She hauls Castiel in front of her. "This is Castiel Novak. You're welcome. Come on and buy me a drink, Lafitte!" she demands.

Dean hears Benny protest, "they're _free_ ," before allowing himself to be moved. Ellen and Jo have also melted into the crowd.

They're staring at each other again. "Hello, Dean," Castiel says, and yes. Yes, it's definitely him. No one says Dean's name that way, and never has. He holds out his hand and Dean's stomach flips in anticipation.

"Cas," is all he can manage for the moment. He slides his hand into Castiel's and shakes firmly. His hand is warm and smooth, slightly on the damp side, which Dean is grateful for because he's certain his is the same. He holds on for a beat too long, but the other man doesn't seem to mind. "It's nice to finally put a face to a name." _You promised yourself you wouldn't say that, dipshit._

Castiel's smile blooms, slightly nervous still. "Yes, it is. You're... well. Would you like to get a drink?"

Dean glances down at his half-full plastic glass. Castiel looks embarrassed at his offer. Can't have that. He drains the rest in one go and grins. "I could use a drink, yeah," he says, and the short, startled laughter he gets from Castiel is totally worth it.

They take their place in line, both fascinated with their feet. Dean side eyes Castiel and finds him doing the same. They both smile and Dean chuckles. "Why is this so weird, man? We've been talking on the phone for more than a month now."

Castiel's shoulders visibly relax. "Meeting face to face can be just as new as the first conversation. Especially if the other person is more attractive than anticipated."

His eyes widen as if he's about to take it back, so Dean says, "I agree." They can both share the embarrassment together. But the reaction seems to please Castiel.

"We're also being closely monitored," Castiel continues, nodding over Dean's shoulder.

Dean knows who it is so he doesn't even bother to hide the fact that he's looking. Ellen, Benny, Jo, Gabriel, and Charlie all glance away the second they see Dean checking them out. "Awesome," he mutters. "What are we? High schoolers at the prom?"

That deep chuckle he'd grown so fond of rumbles from Castiel's chest. "They seem very interested in how we hit it off."

"Yeah... I..." he turns away from the group now huddled around the table gossiping to address Castiel directly. "I _am_ interested, just to get that part out of the way." They move a step forward towards the bar. He swallows a little hard, clearing his throat quietly. He's not always so great at laying his cards on the table, but something about Cas certainly makes him want to to try. So, he continues, "I really like talking to you, and I think there might be something there. And like, maybe we could go on a date. If you're game. I really don't wanna put you on the spot."

"You're not," Castiel admits. "Dean, it took me an hour to get dressed just to see you tonight. It _never_ takes me an hour to get dressed for anything."

Dean grins and dips his head as they take another step. "It took me a while, too. Should we put those losers out of their misery and tell them we're doing okay?"

It's their turn at the bar, and Castiel's smile is small, mostly in his eyes. "No, we should not." He hands Dean a beer and raises the red plastic Solo cup in cheers. Dean taps the rims together. "We should let them squirm."

"Gotta say, I like your style, Cas."

xXx

Dean's never stayed so late at the Christmas party before. And for once, no drunk people have come up to him, no flirting, no nothing that's given him a reputation. It seems like any onlookers have decided that he and Cas aren't looking for any more company. Still, though, Dean's on the drunker side of tipsy himself, and Castiel is looking quite flushed, too.

"No, man, no!" he insists emphatically, tapping his finger on the table insistently. "I'm telling you; some people ain't worth the money! You shoulda seen these leeches! Trying to nickle and dime us for every damn thing, and it wasted months of our time! Tons of money. In the end, it was too much investment for the shitty return."

Castiel shakes his head vehemently. "Corporate looks at the bottom line. What's coming from the customers. That's all they care about. When it all comes down to running the numbers, they look at money in and money out. It doesn't matter what it takes to get there. Especially if there's more money gained in the long run."

"That's bullshit," Dean laments. "I hate that shit."

"I'm glad I'm in accounting," Castiel answers, finishing the last of his beer, and starting on the next that they'd already acquired when Dean got them refills a few minutes before.

"Lucky bastard," Dean mutters. "Fine, fine. Enough shop talk, though. How did we even wander into that? I thought we were talking about movies."

"I don't watch many movies," Castiel reminds him. "Never have the time."

"That's _right_ ," Dean says. "Right, right! You don't watch movies because you don't have time because you work too much. That's pretty stupid. We should watch movies."

Castiel's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter. "Of course, Dean." 

Feeling like he's won the most important negotiation of his life, Dean beams at his companion. For the life of him, he can't fucking figure out why Castiel Novak is single. Stuffy suits and boring job aside, there's a million things to like on top of the smoking hot looks. 

He doesn't realize he's dropped the conversation until Castiel tilts his head slightly and narrows his eyes. "What is it?" 

Dean grins wider. "I'm trying to figure you out, man. How the hell are you not taken?" 

"I could ask the same of you," Castiel answers without a pause. 

Dean lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "No big secret, really. I'm kinda just waiting until I get more settled." 

That does surprise Castiel. "Haven't you been here for five years now?" 

Dean's smile turns sheepish. He leans forward over the table slightly, Castiel mirroring the movement. He lowers his voice, admitting to his companion something he's never even been able to properly explain to his brother. "Yeah, but it's just... I dunno. I've spent so much of my life moving around that I'm still antsy. I love it here. Love my work, love the area. Suppose it's just taking time for that urge to fuck off and go to wear off. But it is, though. Wearing off." He stumbles to finish quickly when Castiel's serious expression fades towards worry. "I've never been in one place for so long before," he admits finally. "But I want to settle somewhere. I'm tired of not having real friends or being near my family. And my brother, Sam, he's like... _here_." He taps his fingers on the table forcefully. "He's got that white picket fence and everything. House, wife, dog, the whole nine. He settled like it was nothing. I'm not like that. I'm trying, though." 

That clears the worry lines from Castiel's face immediately and he inches a little closer over the table. "Time takes root," he says simply. 

Startled, Dean's eyes widen. It's like that, isn't it? He recalls Sam saying something similar ages ago when he'd met Eileen. When Dean had accepted his current job and talked about making a career. He studies Castiel's face for a long moment, wavering closer. Blue eyes watch him steadily, openly. The man is gorgeous. Disarming. For a moment Dean wonders how someone can reach the age they're at and still be so open. It's sort of a turn on, if he's being honest. And Dean Winchester likes to be honest. 

Suddenly acutely aware of how close they're sitting, Dean's gaze snaps down to Castiel's lips and then back up. His voice pitches even lower with a hint of the seductive edge he knows he's good at. "Your turn. You never answered my question." 

There's a flicker in Castiel's arresting eyes for a moment, and he shuts his mouth. A beat and his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. Dean tracks every movement. He's afraid for a second he ruined the mood with such a personal question, but Castiel leans back a little, still appearing game, but not quite as cheerfully drunk anymore. 

"I suppose you could say that my position is the opposite of yours. I'm too eager to put down roots. Start the rest of my life." His gaze is almost a laser focus on Dean's. "Fall in love." 

Dean swallows hard. 

The moment's over when Castiel clears his throat and looks down to the cup in his hands. "I'll admit that I moved too quickly with someone important to me. Or, rather, someone who I _thought_ was just as invested in the relationship as I was. And it all fell apart. He and I never wanted the same things, and I was too willing to make up my own truth, and he used that." He looks back up at Dean, knowing that he's saying too much too soon _again_ , but keeping it closer to the surface might help. Better to scare him away now than before the spark already lit in him has a chance to grow. "I decided that a fresh start was in order, so I moved here to be closer to my brother, like you. It's done me good. I feel more like myself than I have in ages." 

"What's that saying?" Dean asks breezily, blowing away some of the weight their conversation has left behind. He's always been good at that. "Something like, 'time heals everything?' Or at least makes it not suck so bad." 

The intended effect is accomplished. Castiel laughs again, uninhibited. "That's a very apt cliche, yes." 

"I don't even own a watch," Dean jokes. 

"I don't, either," Castiel returns. 

Dean winks and raises his beer in salute before finishing it off, and takes the small lull in conversation to look around. He notices with a shock, that it must be getting towards the witching hour. Most people have finished eating and drinking, and are now dancing close to a small stage where the DJ had been set up. Some people have obviously already left, but the crowd of revelers is still large. Lots of people hanging out for the raffle prizes at the end. Dean checks his cell phone and discovers the party's been in full swing for three hours now. 

There are also an inordinate amount of people making out by the floor to ceiling glass windows framing the west wall of the building. "Huh," Dean says, drawing Castiel's attention to them. 

"Is it always like this?" Castiel asks, nodding towards the couples. 

"Yeah. We have a lot of relationships pop up here at such a big company. There's no policy against it." He smiles for a moment, but then it fades as he remembers. "Hey, Cas. Do you... like... have you heard the rumors about me?" 

Castiel's eyebrows raise and he turns back to Dean. "Rumors?" 

His former courage at asking the question now gone, Dean's eyes slide towards the condensation rings their drinks have left on the green and red paper tablecloth. "I didn't really know about it until recently, but apparently I've got a rep here. At these parties. People think I take someone... y'know, _home_ every year." 

Castiel sits back in his chair. "Ah, yes, I've heard." 

Dean feels a pull of guilt. He rubs the back of his neck. "It's not like that, though. I never did. I mean, I did once, but the rest of it is just rumors. People all drunk and flirty and I figured it would be best to get them back home before they embarrassed themselves. Especially the ones I didn't even know before the party." 

Castiel's smile holds no judgement as he puts his cup to his lips. "I understand. Honestly, I find it distasteful to judge people without the facts. And true or not, it makes no difference to me what two consenting adults get up to." 

"Thanks, Cas," Dean says quietly. "Truthfully? I got over the bar and one night stand scene after my twenties. Too exhausting." 

A warm hand covers his on his knee. He doesn't even want to move, it feels so good and comforting. "You're worth getting to know better, I think." 

"You are, too." 

There's another considering pause. Castiel puts his cup down. "Would you like to dance?" 

Over in the far corner, the tables have been pushed out of the way, and handfuls of people are swinging around in various stages of flailing to jazzy Christmas carols. 

"You can dance?" 

Castiel stands and offers his hand. "No, of course not. I'm terrible." 

Laughing, Dean takes his hand and climbs out of his chair. "What could possibly go wrong. Let's do this." 

Dean can only sort of dance. His mother had taught him back in the day, but seeing as how most people can't, he's never had much of an opportunity to practice. But an old school rendition of _Merry Little Christmas_ comes through the speakers in a perfect slow step for them. He puts a hand on Castiel's shoulder, the other on his waist, and they begin to sway. "Should I lead?" he asks belatedly. 

"Does it matter?" Castiel answers, mirroring Dean's hold and carefully, awkwardly stepping to the tune. He's got enough rhythm to not step on toes or bump into anyone, but Dean's not sure he'll be so lucky. He's heady with one too many beers and Castiel's cologne. It's spicy with low notes of cedar and smells expensive. The cashmere sweater under his hands is smooth and incredibly soft. And when the shorter man pulls him closer to avoid a collision with another couple paying little attention, Dean doesn't move away an inch once they're clear of them. 

Slightly breathless, even though the body under Dean's hands feels athletic, Castiel says, "I haven't danced since my brother's wedding two years ago." 

"That the guy you came with?" 

"Yes. Gabriel's very concerned with my happiness." 

Dean nods as he steers them away from another lurching couple and into a clearing. This time they stop moving for the most part, simply slow stepping in a small circle. "I've seen him before. Charlie's his wife?" 

"No," Castiel grins. "She's dating Gilda in marketing. Gabriel's wife doesn't work here." 

"Oh," Dean says lightly. "My bad." 

"She'd think it was hilarious that you thought it." 

The song winds to an end and abruptly, Castiel moves them away from their small pocket of dance space towards the corner. Dean almost stumbles, but keeps his footing thanks to Castiel's steadying grip. "Warn a guy before doing that," he chuckles. 

"Sorry," Castiel apologizes. "It's... I'm sort of..." he points up. 

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/38049639911/in/dateposted-public/)

Art by [BusySquirrel](http://busysquirrel.livejournal.com/1360.html)

Dean's eyes follow the movement up to see the bundle of mistletoe hanging from a light fixture, and then back down. He stares at Castiel as his body flashes hot. He hopes his rapid heartbeat isn't noticeable.

The shorter man is red all the way down to his neck. "It's a tradition," he murmurs. "I've never had the opportunity before. You don't have to if-"

Dean kisses him.

Electricity crackles through every corner of his body. Castiel's lips are warm and dry, and though it's a closed-mouth kiss, Dean can feel a shudder run through Castiel. He wants more, so much more, but it's hardly appropriate, no matter what the people in the corner are doing. He's pretty sure that he's solidifying his reputation, but as long as Cas doesn't care, he can't bring himself to, either. There's only one opinion that means anything, and the man with that opinion is currently kissing him right back.

It's over in a second, Castiel shifting back and licking his lips. His blue eyes are bright and crinkled around the edges.

"Now I'm even more sure of what I said a few hours ago. I'd like to go on a real date with you," Dean says.

"That would make me very happy," Castiel answers.

"Me, too." He knows their friends and coworkers are staring at them, but that doesn't stop him from leaning in for another kiss.

Best Christmas party ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't that art just beautiful?


	3. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a Christmas gift challenge! Dean sees Castiel's home for the first time.

Castiel is the one to initiate their daily, non-work related IM conversations after the party. They talk about everything that comes to mind during the more boring down times. Castiel asks about holiday plans. Both have family obligations on Christmas Day, but decide that now is not too soon to have a Christmas Eve together. The only problem is that they don't have gifts for each other. Castiel shrugs it off, more focused on the "reason for the season," but Dean insists. That's how they find themselves at the overcrowded, over-warm mall a week and a half later for their official third date.

Dean stands in front of the mall directory, hands braced on his hips, shoulders square, regarding the layout critically. "Okay, here are the rules."

Castiel smiles.

"First, no department stores; we'll never make it out alive. Second, the budget is key. Paramount, even."

Castiel rolls his blue eyes. "I'm an accountant, Dean. I understand the budget. Fifty dollars. Not a dime more."

Dean puts a hand on the man's shoulder. "Third, one hour. If you haven't found the perfect gift by then, you grab the first thing you see and deal with the consequences. Ready to set your timer?"

Grinning, Castiel pulls out his cell phone and opens the stopwatch app. He sets it for one hour. "I'm ready."

With a serious expression, Dean nods, also setting his clock. "Moment of truth, Cas. Which way leads to victory?"

Castiel studies the directory thoughtfully for a minute. A competitive smile curls his lips. "I'll take west."

Dean's heart skips a beat at the look, but his answering grin is as fierce. "Good call. That means I'll go east. On my mark?"

Castiel's finger hovers over the button. He meets Dean's eyes and the challenge within them. Fortunately Dean hasn't known him long enough to realize that his weaknesses are dares and challenges. He'll win. Unless Dean has the stamina to keep up a breakneck pace through the stores and crowds. Castiel is fairly certain he doesn't, since he admitted to a lack of desire for cardio upon learning of Castiel's love of running, claiming he'd only do it if being chased. That means he'd exhaust easier, and it may have been cheating, but Castiel had noticed that the east side of the mall had longer stretches between stores, plus the always-crowded food court to contend with. Victory was his.

"Three, two, one. Go!" Dean takes off at a sprint, and Castiel laughs. Amateur.

He was so very right.

Castiel is back to the meeting place with thirty two seconds to spare. He's pretending he's not completely winded as he lounges on the granite lip surrounding the indoor water feature next to the directory. He spots Dean muscling his way back almost out of time, sweating and nearly panicked. He skids to a stop right as the buzzer sounds and drops his hands to his knees, hunched over and heaving in breaths. "That was _murder_ ," he groans.

Castiel nods towards his bag. "You got something, though."

"Hell, yes, I did," Dean says proudly. "And it's awesome. I've definitely won the big prize for best gift."

"We'll see," Castiel scoffs good naturedly. "But, I'm already further ahead, if we're keeping score." He reaches behind him and pulls out two paper cups from Starbucks. "I got your gift _and_ had time for peppermint macchiatos."

Incredulously, Dean glances over his shoulder to the obscene line at the cafe. "Are you fucking serious?" he whines, taking the coffee belligerently. His eyes narrow as he takes a sip. Still piping hot. "Can you teleport or some shit? You sabotaged me somehow."

"I have no idea what you mean," Castiel answers too mildly, standing and shouldering his own bag. He leans in and kisses Dean's damp temple. "I'm just a boring CPA."

"Lying asshole," Dean mutters, following him towards the entrance and into the freezing twilight, but he's far from unhappy. He hopes he gets a long time to figure out all of Castiel's surprises and quirks. There's a lot behind the plain clothes and unassuming demeanor, and every last bit of it thrills Dean more and more. He grins to himself. He could get used to this.

xXx

Fair's fair when determining where Christmas Eve is to be spent. Castiel wins at rock, paper, scissors, so chooses his own modest house right outside the city for the fourth date. It's an older neighborhood, but quiet. The streets are lined with turn of the century homes and old trees. It's probably beautiful in the summer; lots of shade. Dean admires the view in his slow crawl up the street in the Impala. Sam's neighborhood is nice and clean like this, too, though newer and more cookie cutter. Dean doesn't mind it so much, but these areas with history and personality are definitely his preference.

Castiel's house doesn't disappoint. It's situated back from the road with a small square of a yard, complete with flowerbeds, now dormant, and what Dean thinks might be cherry trees close to the small porch. The house itself is a single story with attic, cozy and painted a mossy green with brighter blue trim. The lights are on, spilling orange onto the porch and footpath. It suits Castiel, Dean thinks. A little whimsical, but practical in size and purpose for a single man. 

He steers the Impala up the short driveway and parks in front of the closed garage. He reaches behind him to grab Castiel's gift, stuffs it in the pocket of his leather jacket, and then is bounding up the walk to the front door quickly, both to get out of the cold, and also in excitement. Briefly, he wonders if he'll always have butterflies right before their dates. So far so good on that. Castiel answers the the doorbell only seconds after Dean rings it, and he's smiling broadly. It looks like the whole butterflies thing is mutual.

"Hello, Dean," he says warmly. He's dressed in dark jeans and a charcoal gray cashmere sweater, sleeves pushed up to bare his forearms. For a moment, Dean is caught staring at the jut of his collarbone that the vee of the sweater reveals.

"Cas," Dean breathes. Castiel steps aside and gestures for him to enter, and the buzzing anticipation gives way to slightly overwhelmed awe. "Nice... place," he murmurs.

It is that. But it's not at all what he expected. In fact, it's a coordinated attack on all the pleasure spots sensors in his brain. He hardly notices when Castiel comes up behind him to slip his leather jacket off and hang it in the hall closet. He toes out of his boots automatically, having noticed the shoe cupboard and that Castiel himself is in wool socks.

There's so much to take in and Dean lets himself stare. Josh Groban is crooning Christmas songs over the stereo at low volume as Dean wanders further in past a low floating wall dividing the hallway from the living room. Dark wood floors give way to two shallow steps down into a lush, cream carpet. There is a couch and loveseat combo in the middle of the room, the same green as the house. A dark cherrywood coffee table facing a real wood burning fireplace and a flat screen TV mounted over it. There are bookcases _everywhere_. Some are freestanding, and some are mounted up on the walls around the TV and over curio shelves that hold dozens of framed photographs and knick knacks. Snow globes, small crystal collectibles, souvenirs from all over the world, a freaking _katana_ in bright red that Dean's positive is real. The rest of the bookshelves match the coffee table and are stuffed to overflowing. Books and CD's, but no DVDs or Blu-Rays. Castiel wasn't kidding about not watching many shows or movies.

"Wow," Dean says, turning in a slow circle. He can see the kitchen across the hall where the wooden floors stop abruptly in green and white tile. It's small, but just as cozy with expensive steel and brass appliances and a small dining table pushed up against recessed windows to make a truly comfortable breakfast nook. He can't see anything beyond that, but he hardly cares when his wandering gaze is finally pulled to Castiel, who is glowing with pride.

"Welcome to my home," he says.

"It's awesome," Dean says truthfully. "Thanks for having me."

Castiel puts a gentle hand at the small of his back and leads him into the kitchen. The pleasant torture continues where the smell of cinnamon and cloves permeates the air. Castiel steps towards the stove and Dean follows, trailing his fingers over the black granite counter tops before peeking over Castiel's shoulder. He’s standing closer than strictly necessary, but he can't help it. He's seduced by Castiel smelling like pine trees and cloves. "What'cha got there?" he asks, voice softer than intended.

He can see Castiel's cheek curve out with his smile as he removes the lid to the crockpot. "Mulled wine. It's a specialty of mine." The deep maroon liquid is steaming with spices and orange slices. It makes Dean's mouth water.

"I've never had it before."

Castiel ladles some out into hand thrown, heavy clay mugs. He offers one to Dean, handle out. "I hope you like it."

He likes it. He likes all of this. The second the front door had closed behind him, Dean had felt like he was walking into a cocoon of comfort welcoming him with dangerously open arms. He could lay down on the soft carpet and never get up again. 

Instead, he moves with Castiel back to the living room and sits with him on the overstuffed couch, taking in the the Christmas tree standing proudly in front of the bay windows, lights blinking slowly in so many colors, making the silver and red ornaments sparkle, and casting a glow onto Castiel's face in the low light. "I've never been in a house like this before," he says, struggling to find the right way to describe it.

Castiel's brow furrows. "Is that so?"

Dean shrugs and gestures to the room. "I mean... it's just... do you ever walk into a place and it feels like you are being wrapped up in a blanket?" It sounds stupid to his ears the second the words are out of his mouth, but but the way that Castiel's smile splits his whole face distracts Dean from his embarrassment.

"Thank you," he says with such warmth that Dean flushes for a completely different reason than the mulled wine warming his blood. "I can't wait to see your home, either."

With a small grimace, Dean admits, "mine is more like a weigh station."

Curling his socked feet under him, leaning against the arm of the sofa and facing Dean, Castiel says, "oh?"

"Yeah. I never really 'settled' there, y'know? It's an apartment downtown. It's nice and all, but it's just..."

Castiel's smile softens against the rim of his mug. "Not what you imagined for a home?"

"Didn't want it to be, really. Every so often I think about moving into a house. I even look around. Don't know whether it's because I've never found a place that I really liked or I just wasn't ready."

Castiel sets his mug down neatly on a leather coaster. "There are a lot of things that go into wanting a permanent home," he says, looking around his own space almost like he's assessing it. Trying to see it how Dean would. "I bought this house out of pure stubbornness."

Dean laughs. "What does _that_ mean?"

Castiel looks slightly sad when he answers, "I went through a lot before I came here. I told you some of it before, though that was only the beginning. I bought this house and filled it to sort of make myself a nest. A safe haven."

"You succeeded," Dean answers. "I mean, I've never been here before and it felt like a weight was coming off my shoulders just walking in the front door." And every corner he's seen so far is nothing but _Cas_. That's the only way he can think of to put words to the sensation. It's amazing.

He doesn’t think it’s possible for Castiel to look even more pleased, but the man manages it. "I was a little nervous to invite you over. Only my brother and his wife and Charlie have ever been here."

That's a surprise. Castiel himself might not be incredibly social, but the house itself feels like one that's meant to be filled with life. "Why? Seems like you have lots of friends."

Castiel tips his head back and forth in a 'sort of' gesture, glancing around. "I do." He turns his eyes to Dean with a self-deprecating half smile. "Perhaps you've noticed I'm a bit neurotic?"

"One of your many charms," Dean quips.

He chuckles. "It might seem silly, but I feel that there are places with certain energies to them. Most of the time, we can't control any of it. I can't control who comes into my office, or the grocery store, or a restaurant. But here... I have power over all of it. It's my private space. You said you felt it too, the energy I've been cultivating. It's just..." he pauses and drops his eyes to his lap, face warming.

Dean scoots toward him, crosses his legs underneath himself, and sets his mug down as well. Gently, he takes Castiel's hands, bringing the man's gaze back up. "You wanna make sure the people you let in respect that."

Almost unconsciously, Castiel threads their fingers together. "That they don't ruin it, yes. Maybe someday someone who adds to it. I've had too many in the past who..." He doesn't need to finish his sentence.

"I promise I'll do my best," Dean assures him honestly. It's a little surprising to him that Castiel ignites in him the desire to really settle down finally and make the relationship work. Still new or not, this _thing_ with Castiel feels significant.

With an expression of dawning wonder, Castiel says, "it's almost effortless with you. You came in here and it added something. A good something." He cants his head, squinting mildly. "Do you really not think I'm strange?"

Dean's laugh is nothing but warmth. "You're _totally_ strange, but not because you want security and a nice place to live. I wish I had the same thing. I told you before I've moved a lot ever since I was a kid, so I don't think I ever got used to the idea of putting down roots like this."

Castiel releases one of Dean's hands to offer him his mug again and take up his own. He keeps a solid hold on the other hand, though. "I remember. But you've been here for years now. You could at least have a house. Your salary is sufficient to afford one comfortably on your own."

"I know," Dean answers, sipping the wine. "It's hard to explain. Every time I think about buying my own house and having a mortgage, I get a headache."

His displeased face makes Castiel laugh. "Too permanent for now?"

"Maybe," Dean muses. "But I'm starting to see the appeal."

Castiel's eyes are shining again with a hint of mischief. "If you ever need financial advice..."

That sets Dean laughing fully and letting go of Castiel's hand to rap him on the shoulder. "Whatever, man, I'm not _completely_ hopeless! How about let's not talk about my budget and get to opening your Christmas gift."

"Yes, I do love receiving gifts," Castiel teases in his familiar deadpan tone.

"I'll go get it," Dean answers, standing up. "Left it in my jacket." He's aware of Castiel's eyes following him as he moves to the hallway closet. He's back in a moment holding the small box he'd had the gift wrapping attendant do up for him. His skills do not extend to wrapping presents. He's pretty infamous at his family's Christmas for it. It's so bad he doesn't even have to label the gifts from him.

He plops down on the sofa even closer to Castiel so that they bump knees when they face each other cross legged again. He holds out his gift and exchanges it for a nicely wrapped box in metallic red paper and a silver bow.

Castiel takes his present shyly. "Who should open theirs first?"

"Go for it," Dean says immediately, setting his in his lap. He waits expectantly.

It turns out that Castiel is one of those people who tries not to tear the paper when he opens gifts, sliding his thumbnail under the tape and gingerly unfolding the edges. Dean doesn't mind. He quite enjoys watching the man's long fingers at their work. Castiel opens one side of the paper and tips it sideways, a black box slipping into his hands. His eyes flick up to Dean's. "What is it?"

He shrugs and gives Castiel a teasing smile. "Dunno." He sips his mulled wine he's still holding and then returns the mug to the table.

Hesitantly, Castiel opens the lid of the box and stops. His voice is nearly inaudible as he breathes, "Dean. This is too much."

"Nah."

"We agreed on fifty dollars each."

"Well, that adds up to a hundred, if you bend the rules. When I saw it, I couldn't possibly get anything else. Please accept it." He scratches the back of his head. "You have to. I sort of cheated anyway since I went back a few days later to have it engraved."

Carefully, Castiel pulls the brushed steel pocket watch out of paper nesting in the box. It's a plain design, but lovely and it had been worth the sprint back to their meeting place to see Castiel's face as he reads the engraving. _Time heals._ Their conversation at the Christmas party had really stuck.

He curls his fingers around the pocket watch with suspiciously bright eyes and murmurs, "open yours."

Dean tries to open his gift just as carefully, but fails miserably and gives up, ripping the paper off and pulling the lid of the square box open. His mouth drops open. "Did you really...?"

He can't tear his eyes away from it, but he can hear the obvious smile in Castiel's voice when he answers, "I did."

It's a wrist watch. Heavy, brushed steel, almost identical to the pocket watch, but with a slightly darker finish. Also more than fifty dollars. He takes it out and turns it over in his hand. It's also engraved. Holy shit. He swallows hard. _Time takes root._ He has to blink several times to clear his vision. "You remembered."

"I did," he says again.

Castiel had said that when he'd read Dean's envy of Sam. How he'd been so quick to settle once he'd finished school and found work. Like he'd been made for the steady life. How Dean wasn't sure he'd ever truly be like that, but he wanted it so _badly_. He remembers how Castiel hadn't pitied him at all for that stupid confession. He looks up at Castiel. "You spent more than fifty dollars, too."

Castiel leans closer and echoes Dean's words. "When I saw it, I couldn't possibly get anything else." And before Dean can decide what emotion to settle on, Castiel is kissing him, and it's not anything like it was at the party, or their previous dates. Those had all been chaste, toeing the line in favor of taking it slow.

Dean had sort of expected a bit of shy hesitation on Castiel's part with how he acts and how he'd kissed him the first time, but in his comfortable haven, he's a master. His mouth is warm, firm, _confident_. His tongue traces the seam of Dean's lips and he opens, thrilled with the invasion, grabbing gentle handfuls of Castiel's dark hair to keep him close. And in the middle of the kiss, Dean thinks, _fuck this going slow._ He can't. They're _supposed_ to be smart about this. _Supposed_ to be taking it slow. _Supposed_ to be level-headed. Likely a dozen other "supposed to's" that make no difference when Castiel's tongue is in his mouth doing a bevy of awesome things to him.

Dean knows inherently that he's a good kisser, but it had been years since he had enjoyed the act by itself without the expectation of it just being a means to an end to getting their clothes off and to some bigger pleasure. And he knows why. Time hadn't taken root. If he'd opened himself, let pleasure become intimacy, then he might be expected to keep it. Grow roots before he was sure of where he wanted to be. He's still not ready. Maybe by a long shot. He can't tell really, but Cas makes the ache in his chest something profound. It's more than not being ready and the regret that follows. It's _wanting_ to be ready. To always kick his shoes off at the door, always be welcomed home with a smile, always smell oranges and cloves, always have Christmases like this one. It _aches_.

Castiel's hands are on his face, holding him, stroking him. It's enough on its own. There's more than desire here. It's dangerous when Dean allows his hand to trace down Castiel's naked throat to his collar bone. He's not going to push for more because he honestly doesn't want to. Their lips moving together, sharing air, finding the perfect fit, it's a fire. He's hoping in some corner of his mind that he'll get hard from it because that simplifies things immensely. Sexual attraction is easy to stoke and bank. Intimate attraction doesn't get put out, and Dean's not getting hard. He's stuck craving more, more, _more_ , until they're both sitting back, Castiel's thumb brushing over Dean's bottom lip as they separate.

He wishes he knew what to say.

Their faces are only an inch apart when Castiel says, "you're wonderful," and closes the distance again.

_So are you,_ Dean thinks desperately. _Cas, Cas, so are you._

It's three cups of mulled wine, a hundred kisses, and four Christmas albums later when Castiel murmurs, "do you have plans for New Year's?"

"I usually go out to South Dakota with my brother to visit our surrogate family, but I'm back a couple days later, before work starts again. Some of us go the Roadhouse then," Dean answers quietly, tucking his feet to the side to lean against Castiel's shoulder and get hypnotized by the fireplace. It's so quiet that he can hear the new watch on his wrist ticking. "Do you wanna go?"

Castiel puts his arm around Dean's shoulder, fingers slowly stroking down his arm. "Do you?"

"I might later, but tonight I can't imagine doing anything else other than sitting here."

Softly, Castiel drops a kiss to Dean's hairline. "I realize you're far more social than me. If you want to go, we can. I'll be content either way."

"Hey, Cas, invite me over here for an After New Year's-New Year's celebration."

"Dean, will you please come back here for an After New Year's-New Year's celebration?"

"Fuck yes." He's getting drowsy. He needs to go home before he's unable to leave ever again. After a few more minutes, he says so, and Castiel gets up to walk him out to his car. It's a slow crawl of putting on coats and shoes. Then Castiel presses him back against the front door, kissing him again and again, their bodies flush, Dean's hands against Castiel's back under his coat, Castiel's hands are at Dean's hips, holding lightly. It's another exploration that goes no further, but no less compelling. By the end of it, Dean's dizzy.

There's more kissing outside by the Impala, but it's too cold to last for long. Before Castiel can retreat back into his nest, Dean says, "after Christmas Day."

"I'm working until the thirty-first."

Dean isn't. He had requested vacation days from the 26th until the 2nd. In a split second decision he decides that it would be nice to earn some time and half and holiday pay. "Me, too."

"Then... I'll see you at the office." He's shy again.

Dean kisses him firmly and then gives him a gentle shove to get moving back inside. "Yeah, see you there. Get inside, you're shivering."

"Merry Christmas, Dean." He backsteps up the path to the door, following the glow of the fairy lights lining either side of the walkway.

Dean opens the driver's side door. "Merry Christmas, Cas."

He's so absorbed in thinking about the evening that he doesn't remember the drive home and even forgets to play the traditional Bruce Springsteen christmas album on the drive.

xXx

"Need the deets," Charlie demands, plopping into Castiel's guest chair on the 27th. "You left with Dean after the party and I didn't hear anything else from you! Gabriel said you've been radio silent, too and wouldn't breathe a word at Christmas dinner. I'm guessing something awesome happened?"

Castiel smiles. "Dean came over for Christmas Eve."

"And?" She holds one hand out, palm up, and makes grabby hands at him.

Castiel stares at her with an enigmatic smile.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't," he says casually. "I know you're going to speak to Gabriel as soon as you leave here, and I have end of the year work to finish. I can't afford the distraction."

"Be that way," Charlie huffs, standing up and flouncing to the door. She swings back around and almost catches Castiel texting under his desk. "I'll get it out if you, Novak. Eventually."

"Have a lovely day, Bradbury," he returns. Then his attention is back on his phone.

**Me:** Charlie has been here already. Must be a record. She's asking what happened after the party and on Christmas.

**Dean:** nows the time to think ab ur fave porn and tell her the plot like we did it

He chuckles.

**Me:** Intriguing. She'd call me out, though. I'm hardly THAT kinky.

**Dean:** tell me everything

He's barely able to stifle his outright laugh.

**Me:** I'm lying. I don't have a favorite. The last one I remember was more unoriginal than most. Sexy pizza delivery. 

**Dean:** lol super lame cas! 

**Me:** I'm a man of simple pleasures.

**Dean:** srsly tell me everything

**Me:** I'm getting back to work now.

**Dean:** k u tease c u tonight

He sets his phone next to his keyboard and gets back to work, definitely happier than he can remember being in a long time.


	4. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel have a date and also talk to their families about their new relationship as the New Year approaches.

After work, Dean is waiting for him by the elevators leading to the parking garage. Since he lives close he usually takes the train in, but they'd agreed to take Castiel's car out to the movie theater Dean prefers on the edge of town. He doesn't notice Castiel's approach since he's fixated on his phone texting, so Castiel takes a minute to look his fill. It's an impressive view.

Dean looks every inch the part of an Accounts Manager. It's a bit of a shame that Castiel hadn't seen him in his work clothes until now. The longer hair on the top of his head is slicked back into a classic wave, though several strands have broken free of the gel to hang over his forehead. His suit is dark gray and tailored underneath a black wool peacoat, outlining his strong bowed legs down to his shined brown shoes. The light green shirt and pinstriped tie bring out his eyes, and with a thrill of pleasure, Castiel notices the watch he gave Dean for Christmas peeking out from underneath the cuff on his left wrist. He holds himself with a casual elegance that's completely unconscious to a degree that Castiel is both envious of it, and also thanking his lucky stars that this man noticed him in the first place.

Then he looks up and sees Castiel watching him. A grin spreads across his face as he tucks his phone into the inner breast pocket of his jacket and bends down to pick up his distressed leather messenger bag. Wordlessly, Castiel approaches him and Dean presses the elevator's down button. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes," Castiel answers distantly.

Not noticing his companion's distraction, Dean goes first into the elevator, selects the manager's floor level of the parking garage, and continues, "if it's okay with you, can we stop by your house to change? There's a few more hours until the movie, and I gotta tell ya, my favorite part of the day is taking off this monkey suit. I brought a change of clothes, just in case."

"That's fine." Castiel can't quite seem to get his focus back. He tells himself to stop staring, but he can't.

Dean puts a hand on his shoulder, concerned. "You all right? Long day?"

Unable to help himself, Castiel reaches up and brushes the loose strands of dark sandy hair from Dean's face. "It was, but seeing you in your suit... it's different."

Dean grimaces. "I know, right? Sometimes I wish I had a job where I could wear whatever I wanted. You'd never get me out of jeans."

"That would be a great pity," Castiel murmurs, still a bit dumbstruck. The door closes and the elevator begins its slow descent. It's the only one in the building that absolutely crawls. Today, Castiel is fine with that.

Dean's eyes darken as he catches on. He shuffles a step closer, crowding Castiel against the back wall of the elevator, just barely not touching. Tiny stars of electricity dance and jolt across Castiel's skin where Dean's warm breath ghosts over him, nerve endings begging for something more substantial. Voice pitched to bedroom husk, Dean murmurs, "you think I'm hot like this, huh? All greased up and corporate swanky? I usually don't put quite this much effort in, but we had some new clients. Had to take them out to a business lunch." He tips his head forward, smoothly shaved cheek brushing Castiel's as he puts his lips to the man's earlobe, allowing Castiel a heady whiff of his cologne. "Needed to look extra sharp."

Honesty is the best policy. "I think you're sinfully attractive in anything," Castiel admits with a shiver. He can tell by just _feeling_ Dean's grin against his neck, that he's about to knock his socks off with a kiss, but then the elevator doors slide open and Dean shifts away. The predatory look doesn't leave his eyes, though. The taller man slips out of the elevator and Castiel is so turned on that he has to puff out a huge breath before his legs even want to move. So unfair, that amount of sex appeal.

"Gonna give you a real thank you for that compliment some time," Dean says, and Castiel's entire body tingles with the promise bouncing around his head. The whole drive home, he keeps his eyes on the road, and Dean keeps his eyes on him, hand resting warm and light on his thigh, thumb drawing lazy circles.

Castiel is thinking twice about the movie as he pulls into the garage and shuts the car off. Dean's hand leaves his thigh, but squeezes his arm before he opens the door and steps out. Castiel unlocks the door to the house feeling the taller man brushing up against him, and he doesn't know what to do with all the sort-of casual touching. He wonders if it's lighting Dean up as much as him, because it would make him feel extremely foolish if it's not.

He lets Dean into the house ahead of him, carefully shutting and locking the door behind them. Then he's being turned around and pressed up against the wood, Dean loosening his tie as he leans forward for a kiss. Relief floods Castiel seeing his worries were unfounded before he's distracted by the kiss. It's messy and just shy of frantic. When Dean ends it he says, "been thinking about that all day."

_Dean, you have no idea_. Castiel's so hungry for it and doesn't realize how much until he has it. He'd be perfectly happy making out like teenagers all night instead of going out. 

But Dean is already holding up his bag. "Where can I change?"

The words take a moment to sink in properly. "Oh, the, uh... follow me." His preoccupation nearly makes him bite his tongue, but Dean seems to be more amused by it than anything. 

He follows Castiel down the hallway to the part of the house he hasn't been to before.. 

The first door to the left is shut. "My office," Castiel says without being prompted. The second door opens into a wide bathroom, clean white tile and glass counter tops inlaid with silver shavings. Two sinks with brushed copper fittings and a walk-in tiled shower. There's a small linen closet across from the toilet. "You can change in here."

"Wow," Dean says. "Remodel?"

"Yes," Castiel smiles. "This room and the kitchen. I used almost my entire savings on it."

That does surprise Dean. "And here I was thinking you were so frugal."

Castiel leans against the wall. "I usually am, but I always imagined a dream bathroom and kitchen when I finally settled into a house. It's worth every penny, I think."

"I agree," Dean says. "It's awesome."

A pleased smile touches Castiel's lips. He pushes away from the wall. "Take your time." He steps out and shuts the door. In his bedroom he changes his clothes as quickly as possible and rushes back to the kitchen. It's too much to consider Dean being nearly naked, even for a minute or two, only a few steps away. Frustrating. He should have rethought his dry streak before agreeing to date the man of his dreams, because at this rate he might go crazy before they've done more than kiss. It makes him feel like a giddy teenager again, and just about as impossible to calm down.

xXx

Now that he's alone, Dean takes a moment to indulge. He breathes in deeply and can smell Castiel's shampoo and a hint of expensive spicy-smelling soap. It smells just like him in here and Dean loves it. He puts his bag on the counter and pulls out his casual clothes before undressing. He rolls his tie into a neat ball and folds his work clothes as well as he can before stuffing them in the bag. He pulls his jeans on and a black henley, and even changes his dress socks to sport socks, swapping out his dress shoes for tennis shoes, but carrying them with him since Castiel prefers socks in the house.

He exits the bathroom and pauses, almost giving into the temptation to peek his head into the open door at the end of the hall, which has to be the master bedroom. Instead he goes back to the kitchen where he finds Castiel in jeans and a sky blue button down, dark blue sweater pulled over the top. He's filling a brass kettle with water to make tea, and Dean loves the domestic scene even more than the smell of his bathroom. He puts his shoes and bag down right outside the room.

"Do you really want to go see a movie, or were you just humoring me?" Dean asks.

Castiel puts the kettle on the gas burner and turns it on. "I'm willing to do anything with you that you enjoy, as long as I can ask the same of you sometimes."

Dean sidles up beside him, noting the lack of a real answer. "I like quiet nights in, too." He can't resist pressing lightly against Castiel's arm. "But are you gonna take me to the opera, or something?"

"Maybe the symphony?" Castiel says, but his expression is teasing. "We can watch a movie here, as a compromise, if you like." He turns his head towards the taller man, who is scowling at him suspiciously.

"I didn't see any movies on your bookshelves."

"I have Netflix, I'm not a heathen," Castiel answers dryly as he puts a hand on Dean's waist to gently move him out of the way so that he can access the cabinet next to the fridge. He grabs a few tins of loose tea and sets them out. 

Dean grins at Castiel's dry humor as he peruses the offerings. They're all blends completely unfamiliar to his supermarket tea knowledge, but look interesting. "Which is your favorite?" he asks, tilting each tin up in turn with a finger to read the labels handwritten and taped to them.

"When it's cold like tonight, I enjoy the orange chai."

Dean picks it up and opens the lid. It smells wonderful, which is saying something coming from a die-hard coffee drinker. There are dried orange slices, loose leaves, and it smells heavily of cinnamon and cloves. "Got a thing for oranges, I'm guessing. Where do you get this stuff?" He takes a whiff of it and hands it to Castiel, who scoops small spoon fulls into two tea bells. 

"There's a shop near here. It's one of my happy places, honestly. You'll probably think it's stupid of me, but I could spend an hour in there blending teas to find the perfect mix for my mood." He drops the bells into the same clay mugs they'd used the last time Dean was here, and pours the boiling water over them slowly. 

Dean ignores his manners and hops up onto the counter, leaning towards where Castiel stands. "I don't think it's weird." He smiles. "Everyone's got their thing."

"Oh?" Castiel arches an interested eyebrow, though he doesn't look up from his pouring. "What's yours?"

Dean tilts his chin up, musing towards the ceiling. "Hmm... maybe... my car? Probably my car." He looks back down to find Castiel watching him now. "I've fixed Baby up practically from scrap. My dad sort of drove her into the ground back in the day and she was a beater when I finally got my hands on her after he died."

"It looks like it's never seen a single speck of rust," Castiel answers. "I can't imagine it banged up."

Standing taller with pride, Dean says, "well, yeah, man. I spent months working on her from the ground up. Even had someone help me restore the leather. Most of the rest I did myself with a little help from my Uncle Bobby. He runs a salvage and scrap yard out in South Dakota. I towed Baby there and put her on blocks, and sometimes I'd get so into it that Bobby'd find me working 'til the sun came up. Some of the best times I've had were crawling under her, Sam helping a few times, Bobby shoving beers at me and talking shop when I took a break. Using everything he taught me to make her cherry. And every day she looked a tiny bit better."

Castiel's fond smile is almost too much to look at. "Seeing tangible results of your labor can be a reward like nothing else." He holds one of the mugs out to Dean.

"I hear that."

"Do you still work on cars, or was the Impala your exception?"

Dean slides off the table and pads into the living room behind Castiel. "When I go back home I help Bobby out, but not as often anymore. I've definitely never done anything as big as Baby. I don't think I'm cut out for that line of work unless I'm invested in the outcome. But back in high school I stayed with him and helped out at the yard for extra cash. Got pretty good at it. I thought about being a mechanic for a minute, but then a guidance counselor told me to get my GED, go to college. I did and sort of ended up where I am now. I'm good at it."

"You are," Castiel agrees sincerely. He sits down on the couch, Dean close beside him. "You're a very well-rounded man, Dean Winchester."

Dean salutes with his mug. "And you're a hell of a tea blender, or whatever, Castiel Novak." He can't stop smiling at the man. All the time. Every time. All he has to do is get one tiny glance at those blue eyes and he feels his face pulling up almost by itself. Not that it's a bad thing. He's pretty sure it's been a solid year since he's smiled anything other than his whitening strip commercial professional smile. Castiel just does something to him. 

He had thought that once he'd been ready to put himself out there again, that it would have been a frenzy. A pretty face that made his dick hard and his blood rush. Instant attraction followed by... well, probably nothing after a few months, maybe a year. Maybe he'd been backwards all this time and this was a whole new learning experience. Sitting side by side with Castiel doesn't make him hard or desperate, not really. It makes him peaceful. Talkative. Not that Cas doesn't turn him on, because he's _certainly_ had a few good fantasies in his private time. But that being totally secondary to just enjoying the man's company is new and wonderful ground.

Sam will be _shocked_ with his behavior. That thought makes Dean smile even wider.   
Then again, Sam had said that he'd felt that lightning bolt with his wife. The feeling's not alien to Dean. He's had it plenty of times, but the strike always dulls when the sex gets boring and the dinner conversations nonexistent. 

So far his experience with Castiel hasn't been that. He'd been _striking_ , pardoning the pun, but it had smoothed over almost instantly, leaving a pleasant hum in its wake. An interest with a slow burn. Thrilling in its own way. 

All he is certain of is that he wants to do a _lot_ more making out with him. A thousand more dates. Anything. It doesn't even matter, especially since it appears he doesn't even have to perform the slightest bit for Castiel. All he has to do is be himself. _That_ is enough to keep him coming back again and again. He hadn't realized how exhausted dating had made him until he didn't have to show off anymore.

"You seem lost in thought."

Dean's eyes refocus and settle on Castiel, who looks a little troubled. "Just thinking."

"About?"

This kind of showing off, though, is fun. He winks. "You."

Castiel flushes and Dean is sucked in a little bit more. "How did you become so talented at flirting?"

Dean shrugs and a brief pang of unease shoots through him. He's never been completely truthful in these situations before, but Castiel makes him want to make the attempt. It honestly feels like Castiel isn't interested in how much Dean can impress him. "I'm not trying with you. It was the truth." He puts his mug down deliberately on the coffee table, then takes Castiel's and does the same. He tracks Castiel's minute shift towards him with a hungry sort of anticipation. He entwines their fingers. "I like the way this works, Cas," he murmurs. "I like the way it feels."

"Me, too." It's a breathy confession against his lips. Maybe Castiel will just be willing to kiss him for the rest of the evening. That would be amazing. 

But eventually they settle in for a movie. Castiel turns on Netflix and Dean says no chick flicks. Castiel laughs and selects an old Western. That's good enough for Dean. He falls asleep twenty minutes in with Castiel's fingers absently feathering through his hair. When he wakes up again, it's morning, he's tucked on the couch under a knitted blanket that smells of cedar, and Castiel is in the kitchen making coffee for the both of them before work.

It's the best weekday morning ever.

xXx

Gabriel eventually becomes wise to Castiel ducking him at work, and therefore ambushes him at 11:07AM on New Year's Eve at his house. Castiel pretends to not be home, but Gabriel calls bullshit and texts him.

 **Gabriel:** I see your car in the garage and your office light is on. Open the damn door.

Castiel opens the door. 

"Haven't seen you in an age, little brother!" Gabriel breezes past him into the entryway.

"You saw me two days ago," Castiel says sourly. "And you're seeing me tonight."

"Am I?" Gabriel hangs his coat in the hall closet, kicks off his shoes, and swings around. "Or are you going to ditch your family and friends for your new obsession?"

Castiel crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm not obsessed, thank you, and Dean already has plans with his family. We're seeing each other when he gets back in town."

"No kiss at midnight? Such a shame."

Castiel shrugs. "I'll just kiss him later."

Gabriel's eyes widen for a moment and then he bursts into hearty laughter. "Look at you with your newfound, almost-lewd humor! I barely recognize you."

"You're here for a reason." Castiel passes by to the kitchen and offers his brother a soda before sitting down at the kitchen table. He knows if he lets his brother get too comfortable, he'll go on and on until the stroke of midnight.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." Gabriel’s voice is incongruously serious, and that gives Castiel pause. Has he been acting strangely? Besides dating regularly now, he's almost certain that he's the same as always.

"I'm fine," he says slowly, taking a seat across the table, popping the tab on his own can of Sprite. "Everything's fine."

Gabriel traces a droplet of condensation down the side of the can with his thumb. "And Dean?" he asks carefully.

_Oh, here it is._ He refrains from rolling his eyes. "We've only been on a few dates." If Dean inadvertently spending the night on his couch counted. Castiel counted it.

But Gabriel's too sharp for his brother's taste. "That's semantics. You've been together every day in some form or another since the Christmas party. And I know you've been feeling out the situation for months before that."

It's obvious where this is going, but he still has to play his part as the open ears to a concerned family member. "Your point being?"

Gabriel leans back in his chair, his attention focused on the wood grain of the table. "I've seen you like this before, Cassie."

Denying the truth won’t get them anywhere productive. "I know."

"Do you see my problem with that? Well, maybe not a _problem_ , but my worry?"

"Of course I do, Gabriel. I see it myself."

Agitatedly, Gabriel taps his finger in a short staccato against the table. "Convince me this isn't Utah all over again. Or won't turn into that."

Defiantly, Castiel tilts his chin up, meeting his brother's gaze squarely. "I actually like it here. I was miserable in Ogden."

"That's not enough, and you know it." Gabriel shakes his head. "Don't get me wrong, I agree with you leaving there. What Luca did to you-" Castiel grimaces and rubs his arms and Gabriel acknowledges Castiel's silent request to avoid talking about his ex with a nod. "For the record, I don't think Dean would ever be like that, I really don't. He's not gonna take advantage of your generosity and rip everything out from under you. I just... I see the red flags and it makes me all Big Brother Mode, y'know? Luca..." he winces at the look on Castiel's face, but rushes on to make his point like ripping a bandaid off. "I'm not trying to hurt you all over again when you're getting over it, but he took _everything_ , Castiel. Your money, your home-"

"Yes, I remember," Castiel cuts him off. He draws in calming breath. It's not Gabriel's fault. He's being a good brother. He focuses on the cold soda can in his hand to ground him. "I'm trying to be careful. I won't give anyone what's not asked for. I won't get sucked into giving more than I have again." He looks around the room. All the parts of his home that he can see from where he's sitting. "Dean has been here."

"Has he?" Castiel admires how much effort Gabriel puts into keeping the curiosity out of his voice, even though he doesn't quite pull it off.

"I've told him... well..." he hesitates. "Not everything, but about my needs. He understands. But before I'd even said a word about it, he'd felt my intentions with this home. He was envious."

"Envy's a sin," Gabriel grins.

"So is pride, but I had it all the same when he said so." Castiel grins back.

This time, Gabriel leans back in his chair and examines Castiel with open assessment. He doesn't tell his brother what exactly he's looking for, but after a long minute, his worried frown morphs into a small, thoughtful smile. "I changed my mind. I think you're doing just fine here, Cassie. Dean gets it, I guess. He doesn't know _what_ he gets, but he still does. That's something."

"It is," Castiel agrees. "Thank you."

Gabriel shoves off of the table, taking his soda with him. "Looks like someone upstairs is finally answering my prayers. If it had to be any of them, this one's probably the best."

Back in the hallway, Castiel retrieves his brother's coat for him and hands it off after he's finished tying his shoes. "I really will be careful," he promises.

"You always were, most of the time. I trust you to know what you're doing, little brother," Gabriel says, buttoning the wool coat up to his chin. "See ya tonight."

After he leaves, and the house is silent again, Castiel thinks that some time with quiet reflection is a good way to end the year.

xXx

Dean is trying his best to be careful. But it's a strange feeling as he goes about his routine getting ready to drive out to Bobby's for a couple days, and he's sort of... itchy. He'd spent part of every day since the Christmas party in Castiel's presence, though some days were just for lunch in the cafeteria. It's ill-advised to get obsessed so quickly, but he allows the sensation to settle in him because it doesn't feel the same as it did when he was younger. There's no urgency to it. He's not too distracted with thoughts of Cas to be able to focus on his work, or his hobbies. It's not a huge hormonal upheaval that it would have been in his teens or twenties. It's just that it feels sort of weird when Sam's the one to climb into the passenger side of the Impala so that they can carpool to Sioux Falls.

"Something on my face?" Sam asks.

"What? No."

"You were giving me a weird look."

"Sorry. Just thinking."

Sam makes a noncommittal noise, but doesn't comment further. He doesn't even complain about the volume of the music. He just sits quietly, swiping through a book he's been reading on his tablet. It's painfully obvious to Dean what Sam is doing, though it's nice of his brother to at least appear uninterested. The silence isn't heavy.

They're an hour into the drive when Dean finally turns down the stereo, giving in. He might be older but he's not more patient. And Eileen is already at Bobby's, so Dean can finally get something significant off of his chest. "Sammy, do you remember when you first started dating Eileen, and you were only a couple months in and told me about her?"

Sam's smile is knowing. He doesn't look up from his tablet. "I remember." More points for the casual tone.

"You remember what you said?"

Sam rests his tablet on his thighs and turns his head to watch Dean studiously watching the road. "Yeah. I said it was crazy after only three months, but I was in love with her and I wanted to spend my life with her."

"I wasn't nice about that."

"No. You said I was insane. That I'd scare her off. That being too taken in too fast wasn't right."

Dean grips the steering wheel tighter. "I was a fucking idiot to say that. To think it. You were so calm about it. Didn't tell me to soak my head, or nothing. You just said, 'sometimes when you know, you know.'"

Sam nods a few times, absently in tempo with the beat of the music. His voice doesn't betray anything when he asks, "do you know?"

"Nope," Dean answers with false lightness, though still honest. "But I've still got another month and a half."

Sam laughs and Dean appreciates that. "The best thing you can do for yourself is to make it totally personal. There's no right time, right way, right arbitrary benchmark you _have_ to get to. Feelings are feelings. They'll happen when they want. And from what I've found, trying to ignore them until you meet some invisible social standard doesn't do anything except make you suffer."

"You got a rosy view of the world."

"Life's short, Dean." It's a big thing to say, almost trite, but also true. They know that better than almost anyone.

But it sure does make Dean feel better, anyway.


	5. Chapter 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is NSFW!** Explicit sexual content ahead

As previously planned, he doesn’t get to kiss Dean at midnight to start the year off, but Castiel doesn't mind. He can save it. He kisses Charlie on the cheek, Gabriel wraps him in a bear hug, gives him a disgusting sloppy brother kiss, and there are countless "congratulations," and pats on the back. Castiel misses Dean terribly.

Dean plants a wet, drunk kiss on his brother's ear that makes the tall man shudder and push him away. Jo gets a kiss on the head and kisses his forehead in return. Bobby comes in for a tight hug, and Dean's pleased that his first kiss on the mouth of the new year is safe for Castiel. He's struck with a tinge of loneliness, despite being surrounded by his closest family.

xXx

"Happy New Year, Dean," Castiel says with nothing short of unbridled joy.

"Happy New Year, Cas," Dean answers with a sudden overrunning of contentment filling him.

Castiel holds the door open and Dean steps inside, stooping to remove his shoes, but Castiel is there first, shutting the door and sweeping Dean into his arms. Kissing him exactly how he would have liked to four days ago. Unhurried, giddy, though not from champagne this time. Dean slots against him wonderfully, figuring out the right tempo, give and take. It's the best part.

"Does it always smell like cloves here?" Dean asks, breathless after the kiss.

"No," Castiel smiles, licking his wet lips. "I've found myself associating the scent with you, so I put some cider on with cloves. And I was right, too. It suits you." The next kiss is gentle, but lingering. Castiel pulls away to get them the warm drinks that Dean's honestly come to expect at this point. "Make yourself at home."

Dean is finally able to remove his shoes and coat. It feels right trailing Castiel into the kitchen, slipping a little on the tiles in his socks.

The cider is awesome. The company is spectacular, and both Castiel and Dean enjoy sharing their New Year's stories. Dean is sorry to have missed Charlie talking Castiel into beer pong, of all things, and Castiel regrets not having met Bobby since they both seem to have a love for learning about Christianity and folklore. Castiel mentions that he's faithful, though not so religious anymore, and is perfectly understanding when Dean admits he lost his faith ages ago with the death of his parents.

But then it's on to happier things. It's their first meeting since the year started, after all. They half watch a show on Netflix while talking, mostly just for background noise. Castiel looks more relaxed than he's ever been, lounging in a fitted long sleeved gray t-shirt and blue checked pajama pants, and Dean can't stop admiring him. Previously, he'd always been wearing too many layers to get an impression of his body beyond being fit, but now he can see the outline of firm pecs, and defined biceps. Dean, really _really_ wants to see the rest.

Then Castiel reaches over Dean lengthwise to grab the remote and bobbles it, making a mad swipe for it, but it clunks to the floor while Castiel ends up with his face smashed into Dean's lap. "Dammit," he mutters, frustrated voice muffled by Dean's jeans.

Dean laughs so hard that he tears up. After a minute to pull himself together he relents and heaves Castiel over onto his back. He's beet red, but a small, embarrassed chuckle rumbles in his chest in echo of Dean's. "All right there, Cas?" he asks, swiping at the corners of his eyes with his thumb.

"Yes, your lap is very comfortable." His dry tone is ruined by the grin that splits his face.

Dean spreads his arms wide and drapes them over the back of the couch. "You're welcome to it," he quips. And that's completely true, though Castiel's head wiggling around so near his dick until he's settled with his legs thrown over the arm of the couch and head in the center of Dean's lap is a whole other kind of blissful torture. He scoots a fraction and Castiel must feel something because his smile fades to a more longing expression and he arches his neck up.

There's no pretending to be interested in the TV after that. Dean bends double and kisses him. Then again. Pecking short kisses all across his lips. It's a different angle and he likes it. He also likes Castiel's impatience; the tiny whine in his throat when Dean won't immediately delve deeper. It's the smallest thing and it's turning him on. Fast.

His right arm slips off the back of the couch and he lays his hand gently on the center of Castiel's chest. With the sensation of his rapid heartbeat under his fingers, Dean lowers his left hand into Castiel's hair, soft without any product since he'd showered, and just long enough on the top to get a satisfying handful.

Castiel's loops his left arm behind Dean's neck to hold him in place, almost like he's afraid that Dean will stop kissing him. His other hand gently takes Dean's forearm, wordlessly coaxing him lower.

Dean obliges. He allows his fingers resting against Castiel's chest to move over the top of the soft, worn cotton, testing the outline of Castiel's defined pectorals, brushing a hard nipple that makes Castiel gasp against his lips at the contact. Castiel's grip tightens, palm damp when Dean touches the fabric covering softly defined abs that clench and tremble.

It's almost too good to be true. So Dean pulls back just a hair. Their lips are still touching, but more shallow. Castiel's eyes open slowly and Dean moves his head back even more.

"Dean," he breathes and arches just enough that his shirt rides up and Dean's fingers are suddenly touching warm skin lightly dusted with hair. He doesn't look away from Castiel's face as he splays his hand out over Castiel's belly. He can't. He doesn't know what will happen if he risks it. So he watches Castiel's eyes darken, lips part on a whispered "oh!" when Dean strokes upwards, pushing the shirt up as he goes.

Castiel's hands fall away from him and grab the couch cushions in a white knuckled grip. He's straining and trying not to, muscles taut. Dean's fascinated by the response so quickly. Clearly he hadn't been the only one holding back the desire for what feels like an age.

Dean is begging himself silently to keep calm, but then Castiel bends his knees, the heels of his feet digging into the couch cushions. When Dean swipes his hand down, Castiel's hips buck up and the tip of his clothed dick bumps Dean's wrist. He must read the desperation on Dean's face because he gasps, "touch me, Dean," and it's not a suggestion.

Panting out harshly, Dean smashes his mouth against Castiel's again and dips his fingers under the pajama pants. Under the boxers. He'd dearly love to engage in some serious foreplay to confirm his imaginings, but Castiel had given him a clear order that he can’t deny. Castiel's dick is already leaking precome, and he makes a strangled sound when Dean sifts his fingers through coarse hair and palms him, testing the weight. He's mouth-wateringly thick. Castiel's whole body jerks with his cock when Dean reaches low around his shaft to fondle his balls.

"You feel incredible, Cas," he murmurs.

Castiel throws his head back to suck in several deep breaths, eyes squeezed shut tightly. Then he turns his face towards Dean's belly. He licks his lips and says, "Dean, would you... I really want to."

Dean uses his free hand and unbuckles his belt slowly, watching Castiel carefully for any sign that this isn't what he actually wants. "This?" he asks.

"Now," Castiel answers.

_Holy shit._ There's no way to ignore a command like that. Bossy Cas is a wet dream come true. With shaking fingers, Dean pops the button on his jeans and drags the zipper down. No hesitation, Castiel rolls partially onto his side, releases Dean's dick from the front of his boxers, and slides the tip of his tongue into the slit. Dean takes a firm grip on Castiel and pumps him once. Castiel sucks him down deeper, wrapping his hand around the base of Dean's dick and curling his body a little so that Dean has a better angle to grip him.

Castiel's weight on his legs is the only thing keeping Dean from thrusting up. Castiel's mouth is a sin all by itself. Pleasure arcs all over his body and he's barely holding on. He knows it. There's already a tightness in his belly, spreading outwards. He quickens his pace working over Castiel's length in time to his own growing need. It's so fast. He thinks he probably should have masturbated more since they started dating, but it's far too late to worry about that now. And if the hard gasps and moans coming from Castiel are any indication, he's not exactly able to draw it out at the moment, either.

He hadn't planned it this way, their first time. But it's fitting. The way they met. The way they came together. The first jolt of attraction that had passed between them making them simultaneously want to run towards it and back away.

But he's not backing away. He wouldn't. He cups the back of Castiel's head gently while working his cock faster. "Please don't stop," he begs. 

The reply is Castiel licking his tongue along the vein firmly and then he hollows his cheeks as he sucks back down. He goes even further than Dean is prepared for. "Shit. _Shit_!." Castiel rolls Dean's balls between his fingers and it's too much. Using his grip on Castiel’s hair Dean tries to pull him off out of courtesy. "Gonna - shit - Cas - wait-"

The warning isn't heeded and Dean cries out as he comes hard, shooting right into the back of Castiel's throat. Castiel moans, the vibration making Dean shake. He's barely able to function, but his head is yelling at him to keep going, keep going, keep _going_.

Castiel comes moments later, soaking Dean's hand and finally separating from Dean's cock as his back arches with the force of his orgasm.

They hadn't even managed to take off a single piece of clothing.

They're both still for a long time, breathing slowly calming down, heart rates returning to normal, senses returning to Earth until they become aware that they've got a mess to clean up.

Castiel grins up at Dean. "I know that I should be a good host and grab you a towel, but I don't want to get up."

"I can do it," Dean chuckles, brushing through Castiel's dark hair with his clean hand.

"Then _you'd_ have to get up, and I don't want that, either."

"Crusty jizz ain't comfy," Dean reminds him.

With a large sigh, Castiel pulls himself up to straddle Dean's lap. He strips off his shirt. "Second best thing." He wipes off his stomach and Dean's hand thoroughly, looking down the whole time.

In fact, he seems so intent on his task that Dean finally crowds in closer, bending his head down to catch his eye. "Hey," he says gently. "Was that too much too soon?"

Castiel's eyes snap up to meet his and widen. "No! Not at all. I... was just trying to... actually I wanted to ask you to spend the night, and wasn't sure that I should."

"Like a sleepover?" Dean teases, bumping his shoulder. "I'm down."

He falls asleep that night with the smell of Castiel's hair in his nose, his weight against his chest, their legs curled together under soft jersey sheets. It's the best thing ever.

xXx

**Dean:** u like cats?

Castiel pauses mid-bite of his sandwich at the random text message. He wipes his hand on his napkin and swipes his reply with one finger.

**Me:** Yes. Why?

**Dean:** can i ask a favor?

**Me:** Are these questions connected?

A photo pops up on the screen and Castiel enlarges it and has to stifle his laugh. It's of Dean and a cat. Someone must have taken it for him because Dean's standing in the middle of his living room with a long haired gray and white cat perched on his shoulder. The cat is a little large, so Dean is bent forward slightly so it doesn't slip off.

**Me:** I didn't know you had a cat.

**Dean:** skittles. she's lazy. can u feed her while im gone? sry so last min. sam had to bail b/c family emergency w/ eileen.

Ah, yes. The dreaded overseas business trip. Dean is going to be away until his birthday. He hasn't even left yet, but Castiel already misses him since Dean is home packing right this minute preparing for his evening flight to Tokyo.

**Me:** I'd be more than happy to help. What do I need to do?

He's a bit nervous because he's never had a pet or had to keep one alive for someone else, so he reads the emailed instructions as seriously as he would an annual expense forecast report. It doesn't seem too difficult. Empty the litter box, refresh the auto feeder and water fountain when needed. In fact, Dean mentions that he doesn't even need to go every day if he doesn't want to. But Castiel suffers a privately guilty conscience and can't just leave the poor cat to fend for itself.

Dean leaves a spare key at the front desk of his building, which Castiel retrieves at exactly 5:30 after work the next day. He takes the elevator up and walks down to the last door on the right. He slides the key into the lock and steps into Dean Winchester's condo for the first time. It's stylish, but stark. Exactly as Dean had said, it feels like a weigh station.

It's an open floor plan with high ceilings, giving the impression of limitless space. Not exactly cozy since sounds probably echo quite a bit with no carpeting to muffle them. The hardwood floors are nice, gleaming and clean. Just in front of the door is the living room. A long gray microfiber sofa faces a huge entertainment center with built-in shelving. A matching lounge chair and loveseat flank the sofa in a square with a glass table in the middle, a woven gray and black area rug underneath. It doesn't seem like Dean's style at all, and Castiel wonders if the condo was pre-furnished.

Castiel flips the switch next to the door and the whole space lights up from track lighting and the two floor lamps on either side of the larger couch. It's very bright. Luckily there's a dimmer on the side and Castiel gives a nod of satisfaction when he gets the lights down to a more homey and less department store dressing room level fluorescence. To the left of the living room is a floating wall with a dark granite bar top and stools marking off the kitchen, which is a severe arrangement of stainless steel. There's no table or dining room, so Castiel assumes that Dean either eats at the breakfast bar or on the couch. Probably the couch. He does love watching television.

And so far, no cat. Dean never said Castiel couldn't wander around, so he turns to the right, away from the kitchen, to a short hallway with the only doors in the place. The one on the left opens to a large bathroom with steam shower that Castiel admits to being somewhat jealous of. The door on the right is open and... _oh_. Dean's bedroom. 

It looks nothing like the rest of the apartment. Instead of a whole house that's a nest like Castiel has, Dean seems to have made a haven in his bedroom. There's a large, fluffy black area rug that fills the bottom of the room in front of the bed. The bed itself is a king piled high with a dark red down comforter, and at least six pillows. There are two wooden nightstands that look hand carved when Castiel moves in for a closer look. The same with the desk with a raised shelf holding Dean's laptop and dozens of framed photographs. Intrigued, he steps over towards them. They're all old. Family pictures. Dean is smiling in every one at varying ages. 

It's a lovely room, and Castiel feels just as comfortable in here as he's sure that Dean does. The bed doesn't even surprise him at all. Dean admits to his favorite past time being sleeping. Castiel believes it. The man curls up like a cat just napping on the couch.

Speaking of which, he startles out of his exploration when something bumps against his ankles. He looks down and sees the same long haired gray and white cat Dean had sent him a picture of. "Skittles?"

The cat vibrates contentedly and weaves around his legs. "You're not shy at all, are you?" The cat keeps up her figure eights. Dean's email had said that the cat was pretty smart and would respond to certain commands. Castiel feels a bit foolish baby talking a cat, but if Dean did it, he would keep up the house rules. He clears his throat. "Um. Din-din?" he says hesitantly.

Skittles immediately bounds out of the room and Castiel follows at a more reasonable speed to the kitchen. She's pacing back and forth in front of the pantry making small mewling noises. The auto-feeder is still full, but Dean says that she gets a can of wet food every other day. Castiel takes two of the cans out and holds them up. "Which one would you prefer? We have 'Seafood Delight' and 'Meat Feast.' Who came up with these names? Interns?" Skittles meows at him, and Castiel decides that the seafood is the correct choice. He finds the plastic cat bowls next to the coffeemaker and upends the shaved meat and juice into it. Gross. Skittles stops pacing and instead plants her front paws on his knees, stretching up and whining. Castiel smiles. "Patience is a virtue. Here's your din-din." He places it on the floor next to the feeder and Skittles attacks it like she's never eaten before in her life. "Please chew your food properly. Dean would never forgive me if you choked." He checks the fancy water fountain and there's no dirt or dry food bits in it, so he doesn't clean it or need to refresh it. 

He wanders back to Dean's bedroom and sits on the edge of the bed, indulging in the atmosphere. It really does feel like him in here, and it's wonderful. Dean obviously doesn't enjoy clutter very much. Everything is just so in its placement, and this is the only room with any real personal touches. He's completely certain now that Dean had either hired a decorator for the rest, or it actually had been pre-furnished. He doesn’t care about the rest of the condo; it is all for appearances. Thus his dissatisfaction with putting down roots here. 

After a few minutes, Skittles rejoins him, hopping into the bed and washing her paws and whiskers. Castiel scratches the top of her head and swipes his hand down to her tail. "At least you're polite and thanking me for the meal. Your father taught you well."

He spends an hour petting the cat and watching the evening news on Dean's obscenely large TV. When he's confident that Skittles has had enough attention to not become too lonely, he goes to the kitchen counter and picks up a stack of sticky notes and a pen. He dates the top and writes, _Dean, Skittles is a lovely cat. She responded to me, and was not at all shy like I was led to believe most cats are. We watched some television together. I hope you don't mind._ He sticks it neatly on the fridge and then, making sure all the lights are off, he goes home.

The next day, he forgets to put the toilet seat down even though the email instructed him to always remember that. Skittles doesn't appear when summoned with the strange baby talking lexicon Dean had provided, and Castiel panics, searching every room thoroughly for Dean's lost child until he practically breaks the door down slamming into the bathroom. Skittles is there, perched on the toilet seat, drinking from the bowl.

With a relieved, near-hysterical laugh, Castiel scoops the cat up and puts the lid down. Back in the living room he holds up a scolding finger and taps her on the nose. "Drinking out of the toilet is disgusting and unsanitary. Your water fountain is both cleaner and more pleasing with constantly flowing water." He sets her gently in front of it, but she ignores it and plods away.

That makes him worry, so he unplugs the fountain, empties it, and cleans it meticulously before refilling it.

He confesses his mistake in the day's sticky note. _Dean, I'm very sorry that through an error of mine, Skittles may have developed a taste for toilet water. I stayed for a few hours to make sure she didn't get sick. She appears fine. The water fountain has been cleaned and refilled in order to entice her back to it._

He resolves to do better as he puts the note evenly next to the first on the fridge.

Day 3:  
_Dean, I hope all is well on your trip. Skittles caught a spider this evening. She seemed very entertained by it, and performed a fine service to the household. I gave her extra treats as a reward. I also sent a request to the front desk for added pest control._

Day 4:  
_Dean, I don't know why you bought those squeaky mouse toys. Skittles hates them. She dropped three in her water and I suspect that she purposefully batted the other two under the oven. I can't get them out._

Day 5:  
_Dean, I found Skittles sleeping on your pillow today. I hope you don't mind. I didn't have the heart to move her. But I did clean up the stray hair when she left to eat her din-din._

On Saturday, Castiel isn't sure when exactly he should check on the cat. He doesn’t have work hours to consider, and nothing else to do in particular. Part of him doesn't want to take advantage of Dean's hospitality, but he worries about Skittles. What if she's lonely? What if the pest control person scared her and she's hiding until someone familiar coaxes her out? He puts on his coat and decides that he can apologize later if Dean thinks he's overstepped.

He ends up spending almost the entire day at Dean's, watching TV, playing with the cat, and cleaning up every small mess that he makes.

xXx

Dean finally drags ass home from his flight, followed by a layover, followed by a mechanical delay, followed by an hour waiting for a taxi. It's almost midnight when he walks into his apartment, exhausted and rumpled. Twelve days in Tokyo, and he's not sure if he'll ever get over the jetlag. At least the contract was lucrative and a sure thing.

He slips through the front door and the first thing he notices is that Skittles isn't there to wind around his ankles like she always is. He also notices that his TV is on and playing a late night infomercial. Strange. Did Cas forget? It's out of character for him to be so careless.

Curious, Dean crosses to the kitchen and sees the sticky notes on the fridge. Eleven of them straight and aligned with equal amounts of space between them. _Such a nerd_. He takes the one labeled "Day 1" down and reads it. Then the next and every one in order. They make him chuckle until the last few which aren't about Skittles and her antics. They have gradually grown more personal. _Dean, I miss you. I stayed longer than strictly necessary just because I felt less lonely in your space._ It's a wonderful thing to come home to, even if he did leave the TV on.

He leaves his suitcase near the laundry room door, then goes to the living room and stops dead. Cas had forgotten to turn the lights and TV off because _he's still there_. It certainly explains why there wasn't a Day 12 note on the fridge. Castiel is laying on his side on the small couch facing away from the front door, which is why Dean hadn't immediately seen him. Skittles is curled up like a boiled shrimp in the curve of his drawn up knees. It gives Dean butterflies. He picks up the remote from the coffee table and turns off the TV and the sudden silence stirs Castiel.

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/106519177@N08/38049639271/in/dateposted-public/)

Art by [BusySquirrel](http://busysquirrel.livejournal.com/1360.html)

He blinks up at Dean with a sleepy smile. "Hello, Dean. You're home."

"Yeah. Hey, Cas," he answers softly, a little taken aback by the rush of emotion at being welcomed home in such a way.

The moment doesn't last. His reply startles Castiel to real wakefulness and he jolts up straight, almost knocking the cat down. "I'm sorry! I must have dozed off while I was waiting... is it already eight?"

Dean smiles affectionately. "It's midnight. I had some travel delays."

Castiel rubs his eyes and staggers to his feet. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I meant to say hello and serve you some dinner and then let you get some rest."

Dean's eyes widen. "You made dinner?"

"Your share is in the fridge. I'm so sorry."

Dean places his hands on Castiel's hips and draws him closer. The pang of affection swells inside him. "I've never had anyone welcome me home after a trip. Thank you. And for the food. And for the notes. I just read them."

Castiel watches his feet, face flushing. "I wanted you to know what happened while you were gone. That you were missed."

"I missed you too, Cas. Will you welcome me home properly?" He puckers his lips and makes kissy noises until Castiel meets his eyes with a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. He's being ridiculous, but he wants that kiss so bad he can taste it.

And he gets it. Eyes shining, Castiel wraps his arms around Dean's waist. "Welcome home, Dean," he murmurs. And he kisses the jetlagged man like he's just sat down to his favorite meal.

Both of them are too tired to ramp it up, and that's perfect for Dean tonight. Welcome home. An uncomplicated kiss to reconnect. Only the affirmation. God, he's missed it. "It's late. Will you stay the night?"

"I'd love to. Tomorrow is Sunday, so you can sleep in."

Dean takes his hand and starts walking them to his bedroom, turning off the lights as he goes. "I'd planned to."

"Are you hungry?"

Dean purses his lips in thought. "Will it keep until lunch?"

"Yes. It's chicken salad."

"Since it won't go bad, I can afford to be more tired than hungry right now."

Castiel nods solemnly and helps him remove his coat and sweater to reveal a long sleeved t-shirt suitable for sleeping in, only it still smells like an airport. "Would you like to shower first?"

Dean sniffs his arm. "Gross, yeah. I stink. Gimme ten minutes." He back steps away towards the door like he honestly can't believe the reality of Castiel standing in his bedroom ready to spend the night officially. Castiel doesn't break eye contact until Dean's shoulders bump the wall and he has to sidestep to clear the doorway. "Be right back," he says again, finally rushing away to the bathroom.

Castiel rubs his palm over the center of his chest. Such a lovely feeling.

While Dean is showering, Castiel strips down to his undershirt and boxers and pulls the covers on the bed down evenly on both sides. He pauses. Dean was casual with the offer, but... Castiel peers around the room again, a little lost. He already knows there won't be any sexual activity so late with Dean so tired.

What if they're not compatible sleepers? Is that a thing? It has to be, doesn't it? What if Dean is picky about one side of the bed? If he doesn't like to cuddle? If he always wants to be the big spoon? If he flails around so much they fall off the bed? Sleeping together isn't the same as passing out in exhaustion after sex, so it's a whole different set of considerations from the last time they'd slept together in an afterglow haze. Considerations he hasn't had the chance to... _consider_ yet.

He takes a deep breath. That's really not something panic over. He assumes.

Dean finishes his quick shower and emerges with spiky wet hair in full red checkered pajamas, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. Castiel thinks he looks wonderful.

"'Sup, Cas?" he asks, mouth full of suds.

Castiel smiles. They'll figure it out. They always do. "I don't have a toothbrush," he says.

Dean motions to the bathroom and Castiel follows. After rinsing out his mouth, Dean says, "there's a spare in the medicine cabinet right there. Got if from the dentist, but I hate the cheap ones."

Castiel pulls it out and unwraps it. Dean offers him the toothpaste. Getting ready for bed together is his new favorite thing.

When they're finally tucked in, Castiel curls against Dean's side, arm draped over his chest. Dean settles on his back, rubbing Castiel's forearm soothingly and perfectly content. His earlier nerves were for nothing. They fit together easily. It should worry him just a little bit that this is all so simple, but there have been no red flags. Dean isn't like anyone he's ever met, and he's so thankful for that. Drowsily he mutters, "can I make you breakfast tomorrow?"

Dean yawns wide, voice slurred when he answers, "'course. Mi casa 'n all that."

Despite his earlier nap on the couch with Skittles, Castiel falls asleep quickly thinking about how many evenings he wants that are just like this one.


	6. Chapter 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter is NSFW!** Explicit sexual content ahead

The sun is barely rising when Castiel wakes up, Dean sprawled across him, breathing softly. He smiles, yawns, turns his head towards the window. There's frost on the glass that makes him shiver even though it's warm in the bedroom. He goes running five days a week, but even if he'd been home this morning, he might have forgone the exercise in favor of staying warm. 

The choice is confirmed after he carefully extracts himself from Dean's limbs and checks the weather report on his cell phone on his way to the kitchen. It's well below freezing with a wind and snow warning for the afternoon. The perfect day to stay inside. And feed Dean breakfast in bed. 

He sets the coffee maker going, and since he has permission, digs through the cabinets. Dean doesn't have much in the way of ingredients, especially after being out of town for so long, but there's enough. Unopened fruit and vegetable juice that isn’t expired, frozen waffles, strawberry syrup, frozen bread, and a tomato that isn’t quite wrinkly yet. He toasts the bread, topping it with sliced tomatoes and balsamic vinegar, then toasts the waffles, and puts those, along with coffee and juice on a tray.

Dean is awake when Castiel carries in the tray, though only just so. He pushes up onto his elbows with a sleepy smile. "Breakfast in bed?"

"Perfect day for it," Castiel answers, putting the tray on Dean's lap and presenting the napkin with a flourish.

Chuckling, Dean takes it, loads up the waffles with butter and syrup, and digs in. "Supposed to snow later, right?"

Castiel sits down beside him, feet on the floor and petting Skittles with his toes, while enjoying the sight of Dean eating with such enthusiasm. "It is. I suppose I should go home before then, so I can be prepared if we have to work tomorrow. Though I wouldn't mind a snow day."

Through a mouthful of tomato and toast, Dean says, "can I come with? Or would it drive you crazy being snowed in with me? Gotta be honest, though, I'll be sleeping off more of the jetlag, probably."

Castiel looks pleased and then scandalized. "What about Skittles?"

"She'll be fine for a day or two," he answers dismissively. "She's a cat."

Castiel makes a disgusted noise. He takes his cell phone from the nightstand and clicks on the weather app. "It's calling for several feet of snow in two days. Your cat will most certainly not be fine without you. She'll have to come with us." He says it decisively. 

Dean blinks. "Or we could just stay here.”

"Which place is your true preference for a snow day?" Castiel asks.

"Honestly?"

A nod.

"I like your house so much better."

"Very well. Then once we're dressed and ready, you and Skittles can come to my house."

A slow grin spreads across Dean's face. "Cas, are you attached to my cat?"

"A little," he admits. "But, this is more of a birthday present. You can be where you prefer and we'll do anything you like."

His forehead wrinkles. "Birthday present?"

"Tomorrow is January 24th," Castiel informs him.

"Huh," Dean grunts, turning back to his breakfast.

"Do you not celebrate?"

"Usually I go out for dinner and drinks with my buddies and Sam. Nothing big. Getting snowed in with you sounds like a pretty awesome birthday, though. Not gonna lie."

Castiel leans back on his hands. "If you could choose anything for your birthday this year, what would it be?"

Dean finishes eating, sets the tray aside, and slides to the edge of the bed. He straddles Castiel's hips, hugging him from behind and wrapping his arms around his chest. He rests his chin on the man's shoulder. "You won't make fun of me?"

"I only make fun of you sometimes," Castiel smiles. "And not about your birthday."

Dean hums and buries his face against Castiel's shoulder, just breathing for a minute. "You smell good," he mumbles.

Castiel bumps his shoulder up, knocking Dean's chin. "I asked you a question."

Dean settles right back where he was. "Mm..." he slides his chin further over Castiel's shoulder until his lips are nearly pressed to the shell of his ear. His voice is low and there's no mistaking the seductive edge he's going for. "This year my perfect birthday would be as lazy as possible." He slides his hands down Castiel's ribs, lower to the sides of his thighs over his boxers, then sweeping up under his shirt to his bare chest.

Castiel catches his hands and holds them tightly against his sternum. "Sex requires vigorous activity."

"Before that. After that. In between that."

He chuckles. "Okay, what's before, after, and in between?"

"Food," he answers immediately. "Something on TV. Not putting our clothes on all day. Can we do that?"

Castiel shifts to the side just enough to be able to catch Dean's lips in a kiss. "I think we can do that, yes. Hamburgers?"

"That's your favorite food," Dean breathes out against Castiel's shoulder, slowly working his way across his broad shoulders with his lips.

"Correction, red meat in all its incarnations is my favorite indulgence. Peanut butter and jelly is my favorite food. Burgers are _your_ favorite food."

Dean's hands slide lower again, teasing at the coarse smattering of hair on Castiel's navel down to the elastic of his boxers. Castiel braces his hands on either side of Dean's hips, digging into the comforter and arching his back slightly. His head falls back against Dean's shoulder. "How do you even know that about me?" Dean asks softly, just barely sliding the tips of his fingers under the elastic. Castiel can feel him hard against his ass, chest to back, and blissful.

"I've seen all your expense reports for meals, remember? And also... _mph_ , you made very sexual noises the last time we ate them."

Dean's thumb slides over the head of Castiel’s cock, slipping down over the vein underneath. "All my secrets revealed in accounting?"

Castiel gasps and bucks his hips up. "S-something like that. Shouldn't I be the one doing this to you for your birthday?"

Dean squeezes Castiel's legs with his thighs, tortuously thrusting against Castiel's back. "I get to do what I want on my birthday, and this is definitely what I want. Fuck, I wanna be inside you," Dean growls, biting down on Castiel's shoulder.

Castiel rolls his hips back in agreement, but manages to gasp, "we'll never beat the snow. I want to do this all day."

"Next best thing?"

" _Please_."

With a tight heave, Dean drags Castiel up onto the bed until they're both facing each other on their knees. Their eyes lock and they pause for a moment before stripping off their boxers. Then their hands are all over each other. Castiel pushes himself into Dean's lap, straddling him and wrapping his legs around the man's waist.

"Me or you?" Dean murmurs, gripping them both and stroking them firmly until he can feel the slick of pre-come on their shafts.

"Me," Castiel answers, shaking and grabbing Dean by the back of the neck for a sloppy kiss. "Let me."

Dean is sure on board with that. They haven't exactly had enough time together to truly get experimental in the bedroom, especially with Dean’s trip interrupting their normal routine, but the first time Castiel had suggested something more adventurous than hand jobs, Dean thought he'd died and gone to Heaven. And Cas has the best damn hands for this sort of thing. 

A shock runs from the base of his spine up his back as Castiel scoots back just a fraction to line their dicks up properly. The heads press together, and Dean moans long and filthy, trying his best to hold still. Then the incredible, silky sensation of Castiel's foreskin slipping over his cock and down. Castiel makes a small, needy whine, gripping tightly so they stay together, and he shudders from head to toe.

Dean can barely keep his eyes open, but he tries because this is his favorite part. When he finally manages to pry his eyes open against the pleasure, Castiel is staring at him, gorgeous blue eyes wide and dark. His wet lips part on a silent curse and Dean shudders, anchoring his hands on Castiel's thighs and using every bit of restraint left in him not to move.

Castiel's hand is sweat-slick as he finds his rhythm, a slow pace that sets Dean's blood boiling. "If I'd have known you liked it this much, I would have asked sooner," he says, voice harsh.

Kissing the smirk off of Castiel's face, Dean gives himself over to the sensations. It's perfect. With every stroke back, Dean can feel Castiel's foreskin catching slightly on the head of his cock before pulling back and engulfing him again, each time more slick, a little faster.

His forehead taps against Castiel's and they're both breathing heavily, even Castiel's eyes are starting to drift shut. "Close," Dean whispers.

" _Fuck_ ," Castiel breathes forcefully. 

Dean reaches under them, taking Castiel's balls in his hand, rolling them slowly, sliding one finger back just enough to add pressure. Castiel jolts against him and swears again. Dean loves that. Loves when that stuffy accountant exterior gets so blissed out that the walls have no option but to fall. Always for Dean. It's incredible.

He can feel Castiel's muscles bunching, his balls tightening, and his litany of curse and praise blending together into nonsense. Nothing gets Dean off quite like this. He's so close. _They're_ so close. Just a little bit more.

Castiel pulls back at the last second with a low cry, stroking himself alone through his orgasm. Dean watches him intently. "Just like that," he murmurs before his own vision is whited out for a split second as he jerks himself quick and rough to completion.

When he opens his eyes next, Castiel is grinning at him, that wide, joyous, gummy smile, and holding his messed hands up. It makes Dean laugh. "Dunno, you look kinda good this way."

"Don't make me put this in your hair." 

"Lots of protein," Dean says. "Probably make it all shiny."

Castiel lunges towards him, but Dean is already out of the bed running to grab them towels. When he's back he gives Castiel a saucy wink and tosses the hand towel to him. "Are we showering at your place?"

Glancing out the window, Castiel says, "might be for the best. It's already starting to snow."

Dean drags his duffel out of the closet with the cat carrier. He stuffs a few changes of clothes into the bag and then eyes Castiel. "You sure about the cat? I swear she'll be fine. Everything's automated."

Castiel zips his sweater up and adjusts the cuffs primly before jabbing a finger at Dean. "You made me love her, so deal with the consequences." He looks almost petulant pulling on his jeans.

Dean laughs even harder. "Whatever you say, man." He dresses quickly and goes to the kitchen for the cat food and catnip treats. He shakes the bag and Skittles dutifully follows him to the bedroom, right into the carrier without a care in the world. Dean slips a handful of treats through the bars and coos as her. 

"I thought cats would be harder to get into carriers," Castiel says, picking up Dean's duffel for him and flipping off the lights on their way out.

"Nah, this cat is made of chill," Dean answers, hefting the carrier and following behind Castiel. "She'll like your house. It's a new place to explore."

All the way on the drive back to his home, Castiel actually looks worried that she might not. And Dean watches Castiel from the passenger seat with his worried expression, falling in love that much more.

xXx

It's the biggest snow storm that the city has seen in decades. By mid-afternoon there are blizzard warnings and all the schools, businesses, and highways are shut down. Emergency road crews can't even begin clearing the mess until after it's stopped.

Castiel points to the TV with a look of smug superiority. "You see? Skittles most certainly would _not_ have been fine alone. The Governor declared a state of emergency hours ago. All non-essential personnel are to stay off the roads as much as possible."

Dean is firing off a few emails on his phone. "Yeah, you're a freaking genius, predicting the weather," he answers good naturedly. "Oh, hey, just got the inclement weather email from work. Closed until Wednesday; further notices to be emailed during the week. Those who can telecommute are encouraged to do so and report to their department managers."

Castiel sighs audibly, switching channels and finding more of the same on all the local stations. Dean had attempted to convince him to get a cable package, but Castiel had resisted, relenting only to use the TV's built-in antenna to access the free digital stations. "I'll ignore my email until tomorrow," he says.

Surprised, Dean glances up from his phone. "Seriously? _You're_ avoiding work?"

"It's Sunday. It's your birthday," Castiel points out with a small smile. He adjusts himself on the sofa, letting Skittles curl up snugly in his lap. "Though, knowing some of the people in my department, I've already been flooded with messages. Most of them can telecommute for a few days."

"I'm pretty sure most of my people will come up with every excuse in the world not to work," Dean counters, plopping down next to Castiel. "Not that I'm complaining. Then again, I'm usually pretty entertained by all the reasons I'll get for broken cell phones and landlines so my people can't make any calls to clients to ruin their snow days, too."

Castiel chuckles, scratching the cat on her head. "There's nothing wrong with a little slacking."

Dean drops himself onto the couch right next to them. "You were replaced by a Pod Person, weren't you?"

Castiel smacks him with a throw pillow and Dean catches it, shoving it behind his head and sprawling on his back. They watch all of the local weather reports in companionable silence for several minutes. Dean yawns and stretches out, feet in Castiel's lap. The movement dislodges the cat and she hops down, scuttling away to explore the rest of the house now that she's grown accustomed to the new scents. "Check it out, she likes it here already."

Castiel turns his head to watch her sniff out her food bowl in the kitchen before jumping up onto the table. "She doesn't seem scared. I hope she can find the litter box properly."

"Should I get her off the table?"

No, that seems like a terrible idea. It’ll require one of them to get up, and Castiel is truly comfortable massaging Dean's feet absently while watching the first images of the city-wide blizzard displayed on the TV. "I've seen her clean herself meticulously. I don't mind her doing her thing."

"She'll never be able to return to her old life of discipline and order after a week here," Dean grins. "Neither will I, for that matter."

"Good," Castiel answers, not taking his eyes off the TV, but Dean sees his gentle expression. The one that softens his face so endearingly.

It's not even noon and it's already the most perfect day that Dean can imagine.

Of course, that's until lunch time and Castiel keeps his promise to make burgers, allowing Dean to school him on the proper seasoning of the ground beef and patty size. "I've always wanted a range grill," he says wistfully.

"You can use this one whenever you want," Castiel says, cutting tomatoes carefully at the kitchen island.

"Spoiling me again. I like it." He puts the burgers on the grill and sighs with satisfaction as the smell wafts up. "These are going to be amazing."

"I've always found that self-praise of yours very sexy."

Chuckling, Dean says, "tease me all you want, but you'll be crying tears of joy when you taste these. No burger will ever do again."

"I'm sure I will."

Dean can't tell whether he's being sarcastic or not, but it doesn't matter. Best day ever.

That turns into the best evening ever. The snow continues through the afternoon with periods of near whiteout conditions, only to slow in the evening, though thick flakes still fall heavily and steadily. The power starts to flicker every now and then and Dean suggests they shower before it goes for real.

"My water heater is gas. Doesn't matter if the power is out," Castiel mouths against the sensitive curve of Dean's neck after running his hands up under the man's shirt, to pull it off after leading them down the hallway with a series of kisses.

"Please don't complain about shower sex," Dean answers, pinching Castiel's nipple until he moans before removing his shirt, too. "It makes me sad."

"I'll never complain about any sex with you," Castiel promises, dragging them both towards the bathroom while keeping his hands and mouth in motion worshipping Dean's body. "I'm simply pointing out that we can still have shower sex even if the power goes out."

"Awesome."

In the bathroom they redouble their efforts to remove the rest of their clothing, though it involves a lot of smacking hands out of the way and muttered, "I'll do it. Let me do this." Somewhere in the middle of it, Castiel starts laughing against Dean's shoulder as the zipper to his pants gets stuck on his boxers. 

"Seriously?" Dean gripes. But he's laughing, too, and yanking at his zipper piteously. "It's fucking stuck. Why?"

Castiel leaves him to it and turns on the water, takes off his own unstuck pants, and adjusts the water temperature. Dean's on him from behind, suddenly, _gloriously_ naked, and straight arming the shower door open. The water feels heavenly. As does the skin on skin. They kiss languidly, taking the time to wash each other, working each other from a simmer to a flame. By the time they're done, Castiel is stretched open, aching with need thanks to Dean's sinfully skilled fingers, and he can't get them to the bedroom fast enough, toweling off furiously on their way.

Naturally, Dean is practically a mind reader for his need, shoving through the bedroom door, then shoving Castiel's shoulders so he collapses onto the bed. Castiel scoots up towards the pillows. Hungrily, he watches Dean round the bed to collect the lube and condoms from the night stand.

Then their bodies are back together, Dean's weight resting on top of Castiel, peppering each other with kisses, in no hurry now that they're touching again and exactly where they want to be, and snow days are meant to be lazy and indulgent. Dean pushes up onto his hands and begins to make his way down, but that's where Castiel's indulgence ends. He makes a tiny, needy sound and grabs at Dean's shoulders. "No, no," he complains. "Get back up here. I've had to wait long enough for this. Ten more minutes will kill me."

There's a breathless chuckle against his sternum, but then Dean complies. Slowly. "Will not."

"Will so." He's not being all _that_ overly dramatic. Everything about it is trying his patience even when he wants to enjoy it for as long as possible. They've done almost everything by now. And it's been incredible. But over time his fantasies and wet dreams have been getting a little more... involved. And with Dean inside him. Preferably ten minutes ago. 

It puts his whole body on edge. He's been with plenty of people before. Some where the spark lasted longer, and some not so much. With Dean, it's all similar, but more. Wanting so badly and finding it returned in equal measure. A steady give and take that never moves too far in one direction or anything. He's aware that Dean's one of the few people he may meet in his lifetime who is demanding and giving to him in perfect balance. So, he says, "get inside me."

Suddenly, Dean's weight shifts again and Castiel opens his eyes to see all the light in his world reflected right back at him in green and gold. "You're so fucking good to me, Cas." It's undiluted adoration. 

They kiss again. Castiel closes his eyes in anticipation. Dean knows what to do. He trusts him. There's the sound of the condom wrapper and the snap of the lube bottle.

Castiel raises his knees up. Spreads his legs to either side of Dean's hips. Dean's hands move to his thighs, brushing up and bracing. It's exquisite. The pressure and breach almost makes him shake apart. But Dean's got him. Holds him tightly and moves so slowly until he's buried. He's whispering an unstopping string of pleasure, gasping with it. His muscles are twitching and trembling where Castiel has gripped Dean's biceps, holding himself completely still while he adjusts measure by measure.

Dean feels it too because he lets out a huge breath when Castiel settles.

In a smooth motion, Dean reaches up towards the headboard, grabs one of the pillows, drags it down, and then pushes it under Castiel's lower back. Ah, that's much more comfortable. 

Their eyes meet. Dean's flushed and grinning. He winks. Castiel grins back, bucking his hips up. Dean curses and starts to move.

Never more than now, Castiel is certain that later he will feel the emotional significance of this. But for the moment, the physical pleasure is enough to wipe everything else away. Dean is inside him, moving, sparking his pleasure higher and higher every second. Castiel holds on desperately, voicing his praise. Loudly.

Dean's skin is warm, sweating, and he's nearly frantic, though trying his best to be gentle. He wants to do this forever. Holy shit, it's too good. "Cas," he begs.

"It's okay," Castiel agrees hoarsely. He removes his right hand from Dean's arm and takes his throbbing dick in hand. He strokes himself hard and fast as Dean's eyes track down to watch.

There's not stopping it now. Castiel's point of no return hits and flies past. He growls his release, coating them both in come. He almost misses Dean's orgasm, and really would have hated himself for it. Dean's head falls back, exposing his flushed neck. Gritting his teeth. Coming so hard that his whole body spasms. It's beautiful. Worth the wait.

In the frozen beats of time in the immediate aftermath, the snow falls outside. Inside is just as muted and quiet, their heart rates calming. Dean pulls out eventually with an over-sensitized moan. They're in each other's arms again shortly. No words anymore. Just soothing hands and lips.

The power flickers again and finally goes out for good.

Dean laughs. "It was so awesome, we killed the electricity."

"That's okay," Castiel yawns. "We got each other nice and warm, so if we don't move ever again, we'll be fine."

"You're so smart."

"I'm so tired. You wore me out."

"You're welcome." Dean's smirk is obvious even though Castiel has closed his eyes.

Castiel gives Dean a smart pat on the ass. "Yes, yes, you're a regular god in bed. Now shut up and take a nap with me."

It's easy to comply with. They fall asleep soon after while the snow piles up outside.

xXx

Dean has to admit that Castiel is right, of course. It had all changed afterwards. Now, he feels light, almost untroubled. None of his former anxieties about moving too fast or overindulging bother him at all.

The snow days turn into long weekends. Early evenings during the week. Skittles hates going to back to Dean's condo. So does Dean. Castiel lets them both stay as much as they like. They add things to his home. Tangible things, like Dean's favorite pajamas, a few of his suits, and a dozen toy mice that Skittles bats under multiple appliances. Castiel is the only one who seems to realize that she hates those things. 

Time moves. The laboriously cold winter slowly begins to thaw into March, and the first cherry trees bloom outside in Castiel's yard. Dean loves waking up on lazy weekend days to look out the bedroom window to see them raining pink petals in the breeze, Castiel is curled up against his back, breath warm on his neck. Skittles loafed up contentedly behind Castiel's knees in her second home. Dean's starting to think that she'll resent him forever if he makes her go back to the condo. And Castiel always looks at them when they leave like someone's killed his childhood dog.

Today, though, is beautiful. The sun is only just starting to come up over the privacy fence that they repainted last weekend in a fit of crazed Spring cleaning. The cherry trees are beginning to wane with their blossoms, bright green leaves taking their place. Castiel's arm is heavy over his chest, pressed right over his heart. Dean rests his hand over top of Castiel's and the other man breathes out a huff against the nape of his neck.

There are few times in his life he can point to moments and realize his contentment one hundred percent. Here, he can. It's overwhelming. It surges up in his chest, tightening but also freeing. He's happy. So fucking happy.

The clock on the bedside table clicks over, drawing his attention. 8:00 am, March 22nd. Dean stifles his laugh.

Three months. Almost exactly three months. Sam is never going to let him hear the end of it.

A sleepy voice rumbles against his back. He can feel the bassy timbre as much as he can hear Cas quietly say, "good morning, Dean," and presses a small kiss against his shoulder blade. He shifts and his head moves up so his chin is resting against the crown of Dean's head. "It's lovely out. I should go running." He sounds regretful.

"Don't," Dean murmurs, clasping his hand firmly. "It's Saturday. Stay in bed with me a little while."

Castiel's chuckle is as warm as his body heat under the comforter. "There's nothing I'd rather do more than let you make me lazier." He sounds like he means it.

"I need to tell you something." It sounds a lot more serious than intended.

Castiel readjusts his grip and rolls Dean over so they're face to face. A worried wrinkle joins the pillow creases on his forehead. "Is everything all right?"

Dean digs his hand out from under his pillow and pokes the worry line. "It's fine. It's just... I need to tell you that I love you, Cas. I really, _really_ fucking love you. I hope that doesn't freak you out being so soon and all. You don't have to- _mph_!"

Castiel crushes their mouths together, cutting off the words and the air, and it's pretty gross with morning breath, but Dean couldn't have cared less. He feels it. All of that suffocating, overwhelming, frightening, exhilarating love pouring out against Castiel's lips. It's exactly what Sam had told him he felt for Eileen. Exactly. And Castiel won't let go. He's trembling in the embrace and kissing Dean like he's trying not to cry.

Skittles gets tired of it first, winding her way up over the comforter on top of both their entwined legs, balancing precariously on Dean's shoulder, then smack onto Castiel's cheek and over the top of his head.

It makes Dean laugh, breaking the kiss, and Castiel follows soon after, the corner of his eyes wet. Then they're calming down again and Castiel is beaming at Dean like he's all the stars in the summer sky.

"I love you, too," he says simply. There's no way to doubt him.

"I was scared it hadn't been long enough."

"Whose rule book are you following?"

Dean smiles. "Fuck it, right?"

"Fuck it," Castiel confirms, enunciating both words. He spreads his fingers against the back of Dean's head. "I need to tell you something, too."

"Is it bigger than 'I love you,' or did I win this round?"

"It's everything, Dean," Castiel says softly, seriously. "You... you brought something here." He flicks his eyes up to indicate the room. "Ever since the first time you came here to my home, and every time since, you've added something. Offered something. You've filled this place up." He taps his chest just over his heart. "You've filled _me_ up. So... maybe it is more than 'I love you.'"

Dean scoots closer until their bodies are pressed together fully. "It's a forever sort of thing," he murmurs.

"It might be. The past seven months we've known each other have just been day after day of confirming it, even though we haven't been dating long." He's not even embarrassed to be so earnest with his feelings. Dean marvels at that.

"What do you wanna do?" he asks carefully.

But Castiel is beyond being careful now. He's confident and he's on a roll. Dean knows that look on his face. Loves it. 

"I want to try forever," Castiel says with weight. "I want you to never have to go back to your 'weigh station' of a condo ever again. I want to touch you every night when I get into this bed. I want the posters in your room to hang right there over the dresser. I want to trip over the cat's water fountain every morning when I go to make coffee because I'm too sleepy to pay attention. I want to have the right to tell you to pick your dirty clothes up off the bathroom floor. I want you here, Dean. I want you to call this house your home. _Our_ home. Forever, if we can manage it."

Dean blinks to clear his vision, though it still wavers. He opens his mouth, but his throat is too thick. He coughs. Tries again. It's just... not happening. The significant words aren't coming. He needs to say _something_. "That was really fucking cheesy, Cas," he croaks.

A pillow whacks him over the head and Skittles, startled, tears off out of the bedroom. Dean laughs until his eyes do actually spill over as he tries to defend himself against the onslaught of feather pillows, decorative pillows, and 200 lbs of the best damn thing that's ever happened to him pinning him down.

It doesn’t matter at all, does it? He could have waited hours, days, months, years to have told Castiel how much he loves him, but it wouldn't have mattered. It only would have prolonged the obvious. He still would have had a dozen, a hundred, a thousand more mornings just like this no matter how much time he let slip by before admitting it. There was nothing for it. Couldn't be. His fate was sealed the second Castiel had typed, _Hello, Dean._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading this angst-free fic of mine! It was such a joy to write and submit to the DCBB! All my props to BusySquirrel, who made the lovely art and was such a pleasure to work with. I hope you all enjoyed it! Feel free to leave any comments you like! I read and answer them all! Thank you again, lovelies!


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